


songs of desperation (i played them for you)

by antisocialgod



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Band, F/F, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antisocialgod/pseuds/antisocialgod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the back of the room, with her feet propped up and her eyes lazily gazing at a small spider weaving its net around some small bug, Carmilla lets out a heavy sigh.</p><p>“We need a new member.”</p><p><b>Aka:</b> The band!AU you didn't need and probably not the one you deserve either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everything's in order in a black hole

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Carmilla or any of the songs mentioned or quoted in this work. I don't own 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' either. 
> 
> English is not my first language, so forgive the mistakes.

From the back of the room, with her feet propped up and her eyes lazily gazing at a small spider weaving its net around some small bug, Carmilla lets out a heavy sigh.

“We need a new member.”

LaFontaine, all wide eyes and disheveled hair, is the first to protest, “What? Why?”

Carmilla levels them a glare, which is nothing unusual, really. On an average day that happens about two hundred or so times, if their calculations are right.

(And they are. They _always_ are.)

“Look,” Danny interrupts, sensing they’re heading for yet another argument, “Much as I hate to agree with broody musician over there,” she points to Carmilla, who redirects her glare, “and we all know I _do_ – she’s got a point.”

“Could you repeat that, please?” Carmilla’s voice echoes from the back of the room, all sweet and sugar, her tone something that both Danny and LaFontaine have come to know quite well.

“Don’t even start,” Danny rolls her eyes, pulling back the straps of her bass guitar and setting it aside on the ragged couch, carefully balancing it against the wall, “I love White Stripes as much as the next guy, but I don’t think we can pull off the whole two instruments thing.”

“But _she_ can play, like, anything you put in front of her!”

Carmilla closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, because, _really?_ “I hardly doubt that I could play it all at once, though.”

LaF’s shoulders rise and fall as they softly pluck the chords on their guitar, “Well, that’s not my problem, is it?”

“Look, _Mendel–_ ”

“Okay, enough! You,” Danny points her pick at LaFontaine, the sun rays reflecting the bright colors of the small object, “stop antagonizing her. That’s, like, _my_ job. And you,” she turns to the other girl in the room, who seems to have moved her attention from the ceiling to her drumsticks, “don’t be an asshole when I’m trying to support you. It really takes a toll on me and I’d rather not have to do it for very long.”

Carmilla twirls one of her drumsticks around her fingers, “Fine, whatever.”

“Yeah,” LaFontaine nods, their fingers moving faster as a melody starts to fill the room.

Danny flops on the couch, ignoring the cloud of dust that forms around her. Her eyes glance from the redhead on the other side of the room to the brunette on the drums, who seems to have picked up on LaFontaine’s beat. It’s not long before she is tempted to join in, and when the music starts flowing effortlessly around the room, she thinks maybe they’re finally speaking the same language.

(They may not agree on much - or anything, really - but _music_.)

(Music makes sense.)

They go on for a few minutes; note after note, fingers moving seamlessly against chords and drumsticks banging heavily in a combination of sounds and feelings, until, seemingly without any prompt, the room goes silent again.

LaFontaine is the first to speak up, “Okay, let’s do this.”

//

“Here you go,” Perry announces, setting two mugs and one glass on the table, “One black, no sugar. One latte, and one iced coffee.”

“Thanks, Perr,” LaFontaine grins, taking a sip of their drink as the other two occupants on the table nod at Perry.

“Sweetie, you have–” the redhead sighs softly, taking a napkin and dabbing carefully at their mouth. Her lips curve in a smile and her eyes glow as she replaces the napkin with her lips, pressing a quick kiss to their mouth. “There.”

“Er–”

Carmilla coughs, pulling her drink away from her lips, “Gross.”

Danny hums, “Agreed.”

“Assholes.”

“ _LaFontaine!_ ”

The redhead drops their head, taking another sip of their drink, “Sorry, babe.”

Slurping on her straw, Danny leans back against her seat, lips curling in a way that let’s LaFontaine know exactly what’s coming next, “Whipped.”

Yep.

(Which, you know, they _are_ , but still.)

“Don’t be petty, Danny, it’s unbecoming of you,” Perry chides, grabbing the empty packets of sugar strewn across the table, “It’s certainly not LaFontaine’s fault - or my own, for that matter - that you can’t seem to keep a hold of your significant others.”

There’s an _ooo_ coming from LaFontaine’s mouth and Danny’s cheeks are burning as Carmilla takes her drink to her lips, muttering something that distinctly sounds like, _”Buuuurn,”_ , which, honestly, so rude.

Perry huffs, “Not that you’re much better, Carmilla, dear.”

The brunette crosses her arms, eyes rolling as LaFontaine laughs and Danny sends her a smug grin, “Whatever, like I care.”

Perry glances at the old clock hanging from the wall behind them and bites her lip for a second - she _shouldn’t_ take a break now, but her boss is busy and the cafe is empty, so she doesn’t think he’ll mind - before nudging her partner further into the booth and taking a seat next to them.

She takes a sip of LaFontaine’s drink, smiling at the small hint of cinnamon that hits her tongue (they’re not too fond of it, but Perry loves it and she knows they added it just for her sake), “So, what is going on?”

“ _Carmilla_ thinks we need a new member.”

The brunette in question rolls her eyes, “Hagrid here agrees with me. And I thought you did too, unless you changed your mind in the last hour. _Again._ ”

“I just don’t know why we can’t work with what we have,” LaFontaine explains, resting their face against Perry’s shoulder. 

“Because then we’d be settling for something less than what we can be and I don’t think any of us wants that, right?”

“Kill me after I say this,” Carmilla groans, slipping in her seat until she’s practically laying down, “But I’m forced to agree with the lamp post.”

“Lamp post? _Really?_ Your creativity has seen better days.” 

“Bite me, Sasquatch.” 

Perry watches as they dissolve into another argument, replaying in her mind all the times she’s witnessed this same scene taking place in front of her. Carmilla and Danny's relationship always reminded Perry of her days as a kid, when she’d try to stick magnets together but the positive sides would only go so far until they started repelling each other.

Eventually, she stopped trying to force it to happen.

(LaFontaine would later explain to her how it all worked and her mind would finally make sense of things.)

(Both the magnets and Carmilla and Danny.)

“Children,” she snaps her fingers in front of the two girls, effectively bringing the discussion to an end, “What exactly are you looking for in a new member?”

Carmilla shrugs, emptying her mug and pulling herself up against her seat, “Someone who can play.”

“Well, obviously, dear, but what instrument?”

LaFontaine is too busy nuzzling their nose against their girlfriend’s cheek to give any attention to the discussion taking place, their thumb tracing patterns against her hand, seemingly content to let the entire thing unfold in front of them.

“I was thinking of a drummer. No, _shut up_ , let me finish,” Danny quickly adds, glaring at Carmilla, “You’re the lead singer. It honestly makes no sense for you to be all the way back on the drums and, frankly, I can’t sing for shit and we all know how LaF gets whenever they have to lead.”

“I wanna be insulted, but I can’t, so I’ll just remain quiet in my corner,” LaFontaine declares, smiling as Perry presses a supportive kiss to their cheek and slips out of the booth.

The redhead takes their empty mugs and Danny’s empty glass, “I have to get back to work, but I’ll come back and check on you soon.”

“Thanks, love.”

Carmilla makes gagging noises at the scene, earning a elbow on her side from the bassist next to her. She is tempted to return the violent act and wipe out the shit-eating grin on Danny's face, but she catches the pointed look LaFontaine sends her way and figures that perhaps vengeance can come later.

"So," she exhales softly, glancing from one band member to another. "A drummer."

Danny nods decisively, "I'm not saying we're gonna find another you- and I mean, I really hope that we _won't_ , but I'm sure we can score a girl who at least knows what she's doing."

"Why, Bean Pole," Carmilla smirks, "I swear I can find a compliment in there somewhere."

“Shut up. Why do I even put up with you?”

//

Her back hurts and her eyes are heavy by the time Carmilla manages to slouch back to her room.

A day with Danny and LaFontaine is never anything short of exhausting for her, but she thinks, this time, they’ve managed to outdo themselves. Yes, she had been the one to throw the idea of a new member on the table - and it hadn’t been one of her brightest, she’ll admit it - but Carmilla honestly didn’t expect it to unravel such a big discussion.

Everything was simple in her mind; sadly, her bandmates had a tendency to complicate things.

She manages to flick on the light after stumbling over one of her boots, running her eyes around the room in search for the other half of the pair, but coming up empty. It occurs to her that she may be misplacing more things than one should in such a small room, but she files the thought for later, only kicking the offending piece of footwear aside and throwing her bag on her bed, thanking her lucky stars that, when she flops next to it, nothing pokes into her body.

Her legs have turned to jelly and she can feel an annoying throbbing behind her eyes, but she’s known herself for 21 years now and sadly sleep is not likely to come on this night anymore than it has for the past five years. 

“Might as well be productive,” she mutters to herself, sitting up and reaching for the sketch pad that seems to have been swallowed by her sheets somewhere in the past day.

By the time she’s sneaking around the Silas’ halls, three pieces of paper in one hand, keychain on the other and a satisfied smile in her lips, she decides maybe being productive isn’t so bad after all.

(Which is not saying that she’ll make a habit out of it, of course.)

//

_”Where the hell are you?”_

“I- _shit_ \- I’m on my way.”

_”Well, hurry up, Wednesday Addams is about to have a stroke.”_

“Tell her to chill the fuck out, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The line disconnects and LaFontaine tosses their phone aside, leaning against the couch to examine the throbbing pain that’s coming from their left toe. They wiggle it, not bothering to take off their shoes, and when only a mild pain results from it, grab back their phone and rush for their messenger bag, nearly avoiding their computer desk in the process. 

The air is starting to cool in Styria, which makes them pull their sweater closer to their body as they leave the dorms. If they'd been back home, they'd still be basking in the last waves of summer heat, but things tended to get colder faster in the middle of fucking nowhere, and that seemed to be specially true for the Silas University campus.

They don't dwell too much on it, though; lately their time alone has been focused on one thing and one thing only.

Well, actually, more like a _date_.

Their two-year anniversary with Perry is coming and the truth is that they're legit _freaking out_ trying to come up a celebration worth of their girlfriend's amazingness.

(There will never be anything. 

LaFontaine could bottle the sun, the moon and the stars and Perry would still be worth a lot more.) 

Ironically enough, they know Perry and they know none of these things matter to their girlfriend. Twenty four months is a long time, but for them, it's a lot more than that.

It's their entire lives.

Two years might be the official mark, but Perry has always been there, their one constant in a life that has been nothing short of a rollercoaster ride. Through ups and downs, she's been their rock - never faltering and never breaking.

LaFontaine can never put in words or in gestures how much they appreciate this, but they'll be damned if they don't try their hardest. 

Everything has to be perfect.

(They’re pretty sure they’re gonna screw it up, somehow.)

(And Lola Perry will still love them anyway.)

Carmilla and Danny could probably help, if they weren’t so busy trying to claw out each other’s eyes all the time. It’s an exercise in patience being on a band with those two, but whenever LaFontaine sees a person they think they’d get along quite well and decides to replace Carmilla or Danny for them in their mind, somehow it just never seems to work. It’s weird, how they’re so conditioned to accept something that makes no sense whatsoever, but at the same time, well, sort of _does_.

(It’s a weird world. They don’t let themselves get too caught up in these things anymore.)

(It doesn’t mean that they're not still useless about 76% of the time.)

The old shed behind the Lustig is rumoured to be hunted, and when LaFontaine pushes the wooden door with an annoying creak and comes face to face with Carmilla, they make a note in their brain that maybe those rumours aren’t as unfounded as they usually thought they were.

“I’m here,” they announce, kicking the door a couple times to close it, “What was so urgent that you had to wake me up at the crack of dawn on a freaking _saturday_?”

Danny lifts a piece of paper and LaFontaine’s jaw drops, “Holy shit.”

“Apparently our resident artist was busy last night,” the bassist explains, glancing at Carmilla and then shoving the paper on LaFontaine’s hand, “Did you even _know_ she could do that?”

LaFontaine shakes their head, “I think we can all agree there’s a lot about Carmilla that we don’t know.”

Carmilla huffs, leaning back against the wall and resting her feet on top of her bass drum, “I can hear you two idiots, you know?”

“Oh, we know, we just don’t care,” LaFontaine assures her, eyes still glued to the paper in their hand, where they can see beautifully drawn images of the three of them, instruments in hand, looking far more badass than they’re sure they actually _are_ , “This is really good.”

Carmilla shrugs, tapping her drumsticks against each other, “I figured it would help us get someone good if we don’t look like a bunch of amateurs.”

Danny crosses her arms, narrowing her eyes, “We’re not amateurs.”

“ _I_ know that, dumbass,” the drummer pushes herself up, sitting straighter against the wall, “But that’s not common knowledge yet, is it?”

LaFontaine decides to intervene when they notice the throbbing vein on Danny’s neck, a tell-tale sign that things are about to get out of hand.

Again.

“How many of these did you make?” they raise an eyebrow at Carmilla, who only points to a pile of paper sitting next to her drumset, “Holy- did you draw all those?”

She rolls her eyes, “Of course not. I made, like, three variations and I photocopied them. Modern technology and all, you know?”

“And where exactly did you find a place to photocopy them in the middle of the night?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow at Carmilla, who only shrugs.

“Secret,” she clicks her tongue, winking at the tall redhead. 

It’s the same answer they got when Carmilla found the abandoned shed they now basically used as headquarters, not only rehearsal room. And when her drum set just showed up in said room, as if those things could be carried around in her backpack and taken out at a moment’s notice. Whenever she did that, they just knew it was better to leave it alone. 

(If she wants to keep her air of mystery, it’s fine. They all have secrets, anyway.)

//

The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, and one of the girls sitting in the living room calls out, “Danny, it’s your turn!”

“Shit,” Danny curses, slipping on a random sweater and throwing away the towel that’s wrapped around her head, which haphazardly lands on her computer chair, “Coming!”

She grabs her money and races down the stairs, running a hand through her hair to make it slightly presentable as she opens the door, “Sorry, I-”

“What’s up, Summer Psycho?”

Danny narrows her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh, “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering your pizza,” the boy answers, furrowing his brows. “Wait. You didn’t order it? Oh, man, not again. Boss bro is gonna kill me.”

It’s an amusing sight and she’s honestly half tempted to let the boy in front of her suffer for a few more minutes, but her sisters are getting hungry and, honestly, the faster she manages to get rid of him the better for her sanity.

(And his physical health.)

“Hey, beefcake,” she calls, but he pays no attention to her, pulling out papers from his back pocket and checking them carefully.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m-”

“ _Kirsch!_ ” his wide eyes snap to hers and she’s momentarily distracted by how much of a scared animal he looks, “We did order it. Surprisingly enough, you didn’t mess it up. But Will is our usual delivery guy.”

Kirsch brightens at this and his smile stretches in that way that annoys Danny so much, “Oh, yeah!” he nods, “He asked to switch up his day off, so I’m covering for him. Cause, like, that’s what bros do.”

“Yeah, whatever, can I have my food now? We’re hungry.”

He seems to remember why he’s there in the first place and quickly nods, passing her the boxes of pizza and taking the money she’s handing him.

“Have a good movie night,” he winks, “Thanks for the tip.”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re only getting it because I thought you were Will. Don’t get used to it.”

“Whatever you say, girl-bro.”

He walks away with that annoying grin on his face and she walks inside, kicking the door closed and moving to the living room, where her sisters have already made themselves comfortable in each and every available surface but still managed to save a place for her.

“Pizza’s here!” she announces, handing the boxes around to whoops and cheers from the other girls.

It's only when she takes her usual spot and grabs a slice of pizza for herself that her brain catches up to what Kirsch said. 

(How the hell did he even know about the Summer Society Saturday Movie Night tradition?)

//

By the time wednesday rolls around, Perry is convinced this whole thing is a disaster.

No, she doesn't know music like LaFontaine and Danny and she's certainly not a prodigy like Carmilla, but after so much time spent in their rehearsals, she likes to think that she at least understands a bit of what they're looking for in a potential bandmate.

And she also knows them well enough to read the little signs in their body language; how tightly Carmilla is gripping the neck of her guitar, or how Danny nearly tore one of her bass strings when the last girl missed her cue and messed up the tempo of the whole song.

Or how LaFontaine's eyes are pressed shut and they're taking deep breaths with small breaks between them, which she’s sure it means they’re counting in their head.

"Okay!" she exclaims, dragging the word as she moves to usher yet another girl out of the door, "We'll be in touch, sweetie, thank you for coming."

"This is the stupidest idea I've ever had," Carmilla sighs, flopping down on the couch and running her hands across her face.

Danny glares at her, "No shit, Sherlock."

"I hate to say _'I told you so'_ ," LaFontaine starts, moving to take a seat next to Perry, "but-"

"I swear, if you start singing I'm going to punch you in the face," Carmilla snarls.

Perry sits straighter, "First of all, no violence."

"Whatever."

"Second of all," she continues, ignoring Carmilla, "We've only seen, what, ten girls?"

"Twelve," Danny supplies.

"Twelve," she nods, her hand rubbing small circles on LaFontaine's right knee, "There's still hope, right?"

She's trying to see the bright side, but Carmilla's snort and Danny's eye-roll are enough to tell her that they're having none of it.

"You're right, baby," LaFontaine assures her, and though she knows they're only doing it out of support, she loves them a little bit more for it.

"The only way we're gonna get a kickass drummer who's somewhat tolerable is either by a miracle or ritual sacrifice and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with either," Carmilla says, letting her head fall back against the couch.

The words are barely out of her mouth when there's a knock on the door.

"Uh, excuse me?" a girl pops her head inside, "Is this- Are you guys the ones looking for a new drummer?"

Danny's eyes snap to the girl at the door and they widen in recognition, "Laura?"

Perry watches as Laura Hollis enters the small shed, looking just as tiny and cute as she remembers from the days Danny used to drag her everywhere, almost like a keychain hanging from her side.

"Oh, hey, Danny," Laura waves awkwardly, her eyes taking in the other occupants of the room, "Hi Perry, LaFontaine," she frowns at Carmilla, "Person I'm not familiar with."

Carmilla doesn't bother to introduce herself.

"That's Carmilla," Danny supplies, "don't pay attention to her, she's rude like that. What are you doing here?"

Laura's eyes, which were still glued on Carmilla's form, move back to Danny. She takes two drumsticks out of her back pockets and twirls them around her fingers, something that Carmilla finally seems to deem worthy of her attention.

"I'm here to try out," Laura informs, and Perry is sure she's not the only one who can hear the _'Duh,'_ at the end of her sentence. "Or audition, I don't know, is that how you call it?"

LaFontaine, bless their soul, is the one to break the awkwardness in the room, "I didn't know you played the drums, Frosh. That's pretty badass."

Laura's cheeks flush and she shrugs, still playing with her drumsticks, "Yeah, I don't tell a lot of people."

Danny's lower lip is jutted out and she can't seem to be able to stop staring at Laura, but before she can say anything, Carmilla jumps to her feet and fixes the strap of her guitar, raising an eyebrow at Laura.

"Well?" she asks, eyes flitting to the drum set on the back of the room. "Might as well go for it."

Perry smiles as LaFontaine stands up and presses a kiss to her cheek before taking their place, watching as the blonde sophomore pulls up the seat and settles herself behind the drums.

(Perry thinks she's not meant to belong there, but somehow she does.)

It's only when Laura starts them with a countdown that Danny snaps out of her thoughts, quickly falling into the song that Laura picked, one she's far more familiar with than she's willing to admit at that moment.

//

Carmilla doesn't want to admit this so early in the run, but the girl is _good_.

It's honestly surprising because Laura seems to be all shy smiles and sweet voice, and Carmilla is half tempted to check if the girl hasn't been possessed in the last few minutes because the change really is mind-boggling.

There's a fierceness to Laura that hadn't been there when she first stepped into the shed and it's like nothing Carmilla has ever seen before. 

She glances a look behind her and almost loses a note when she notices how into the music the tiny blonde seems to be. She put her hair up in a bun before they started playing but now there are strands flowing carelessly as she bangs heavily on the drums, eyes closed and lips parted, a sight that seems to pull Carmilla in before she can even notice what's happening.

She's a drummer herself; she knows that it takes a little bit of anger to play the instrument - and she has it in spades, but she would never imagine that Laura would too. It doesn't seem to match her giddy smile and her glinting eyes. If Carmilla were to guess, she'd say Laura played the acoustic guitar or even an ukulele, all happiness and sunshine they were, but never the drums.

She hates to be blindsided like this.

(She'd probably hate it more if Laura wasn't such an interesting change to their lives.)

//

LaFontaine will never say this outloud, but Carmilla's idea? Genius.

Sure, they were against it at first and they're enough of a person to admit this, but that was before hurricane Laura Hollis stepped into their crappy shed and nearly tore down its walls - that probably weren't that sturdy to begin with.

They've known Laura since she was a freshman (and boy, was that year a ride), but they never would've guessed that she could play the drums and that she could play it so _well_. Honestly, she doesn't even look like she has the strength needed to actually make some noise.

(But she most definitely does and it's kind of scary.)

(They love it.)

When Laura is done, there's not even a question in their mind.

They've found a new drummer.

(They wonder how Danny’s gonna handle that.)

//

Danny knows, without a single doubt in her mind, that she's screwed.

She's screwed because Laura is a freaking amazing drummer (of course she is) and there's no way they can choose anyone else over her and fuck her life, really.

Things with Laura... hadn't ended as well as they could. Especially after Danny decided to be selfish and denied the paper extension Laura really needed, which in turn nearly made her fail her English Lit class. 

Not one of her proudest moments.

(Granted, she had apologized, but there was still an awkwardness to their interactions that never really went away.)

But now Laura is gonna be their new drummer - and she is, there's no doubt in Danny's mind about this - and Danny hopes that she’ll be able to hand it like a grown woman (because that’s what she is, right?) and not fuck things up for them, but honestly, she has no idea how well that’s gonna go.

(Fuck her life.)

//

"Well, creampuff," Carmilla drawls as the last note of the song dies out, "Aren't you a sound for sore ears?"

LaFontaine grins, "Yeah, L, that was awesome."

Laura's cheeks seem to be permanently tinged red and a few strands of her hair are sticking on her forehead, but she seems pleased enough with herself, if the smile threatening to break her face in half is any indication.

"Thanks, guys."

"I truthfully know nothing about the intricacies of putting a band together," Perry starts, running the palm of her hands against her jeans, "But you girls sounded really nice."

LaFontaine grins as they move to press a quick kiss to their girlfriend's lips. Once they pull back, they chance a glance at Carmilla and Danny, who in turn glance at each other and give a small and nearly imperceptible nod.

"Well," Danny is the one to break the silence, biting her lip as she turns to Laura, "Do you want in?"

Laura lets out an honest-to-god squeal and Carmilla is half tempted to take back the offer, because, seriously, a fucking _squeal_? What are they, twelve? But Laura is already nodding and grinning and it’s so motherfucking infectious that, honestly, she knows it's too late to turn back.

"I'd love to!" Laura exclaims, suddenly hitting the drums in what seems to be a celebrating sound.

"Here we go," Carmilla mutters to herself, but her eyes are trained on Laura and her lips are slightly turned up and she has the feelings that her words don't have the quite the bite she seems to think they do.

//

***Insert Band Name Here***

**[6:35pm]**  
 _Carmilla K. added Creampuff to the group_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _Rehearsals mon/wed/fri 7:30pm & sat 2pm, don't be late._

**[Creampuff]**  
 _Okay! I won't!! :) :) :)_

**[Darwin]**  
 _This is gonna be awesome, I can't wait til we're rocking this campjks_

**[Darwin]**  
 _Campus*_

**[JGG]**  
 _I'm not sure rockng this campus is the safest thing 2 do, I mean, u did c wat happned when the Geography club built that earthquake simulator, right?_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
I'm pretty sure she meant that figuratively, jockbrain.

**[JGG]**  
 _But is nthing ever just figurative in the Silas campus?_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _I think Danny has a point_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _Whatever, it's still dumb._

**[Darwin]**  
 _Dude, that earthquake simulator was the shit!_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _It nearly destroyed half of the Campus, Laf!_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _I wouldn't say nearly half. Maybe 25%._

**[JGG]**  
 _I nearly died in the library._

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _Pity._

**[Creampuff]**  
 _That she nearly died??_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _That she didn't._

**[Creampuff]**  
 _Oh?_

**[Darwin]**  
 _Oh, yea, I forgot 'bout that, Danny. That part wasn't cool._

**[JGG]**  
 _HA HA HA, u're hilarious, Carmilla. And nope, it wasn't cool at all, tyvm._

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _Thank you, I'm well aware._

//

There is something about Thursdays that make Laura want to stick her head into a burning oven, or something equally as painful.

Maybe it’s the fact she has one class at the crack of dawn, another after lunch and then one in the end of the afternoon and she basically can’t do anything in between. Or maybe it’s because Thursdays are apparently healthy days in the Silas cafeteria and they only serve food that’s either green or , well, _green_ , and she’s fairly convinced that nothing exciting ever happens on a Thursday - they’re just generally are awful. Not to mention the fact that Friday is so close but at the same time so far away and, honestly, what’s the deal with that?

Laura really hates Thursdays.

This Thursday in particular, however, takes the cake.

Her printer decided to act up when she was trying to print the paper she had due, which in turn made her late for her first class, resulting in a glare from her professor and his subsequent want for her to answer all questions which, needless to say, did not end well.

At lunch, as she forced down a plate of green leaves she couldn't even bother to name, some idiot decided it was fun to start a semi food war in the cafeteria and by the time she noticed what was going on, she already had food staining the entirety of her favorite shirt.

And she had no time to go change.

By the time her last class rolls around, Laura is just about begging for the earth to open up and swallow her whole, which, considering she goes to Silas University, isn't that much of a stretch.

Not surprisingly - as the world seems intent on punishing her - that doesn't happen and Laura is left to deal with her frustrations in the best way she knows.

(And the only way that her Dad approves.)

She almost breaks the spare key LaFontaine gave her trying to open the heavy padlock closed around a sturdy chain that guards the abandoned shed, and she has to kick the door a couple times to get it to open, but all of that seems inconsequential when she's seating behind the drum set, drum sticks held tightly in her callused hands, the heavy beat surrounding and swallowing her whole. 

There's something about the strength and coordination required to play drums that makes the world disappear around Laura. Nothing in the world could ever compare to the feeling of having her problems rushing to her hands and ending in the mixture of elevating sounds and intensity that she has come to know so well over the years.

It washes away every last trouble that this godforsaken Thursday brought her, and by the time Laura opens her eyes again, her heartbeat is rushing and her forehead is sweaty and there's a grin on her lips that it hadn't been there a few minutes before.

She's also not alone anymore.

//

Carmilla is a few feet away from the band shed when she hears the tell-tale sound of someone rhythmically hitting drums and toms, the occasional cymbal thrown in the mix.

She falters as she grips the straps of her guitar case - she knows who’s in there and she’s half tempted to turn around and leave the other girl be. If the angry beat reaching her ears is any indication, Laura doesn’t want to be bothered.

Still, her body seems to have another idea, and before she can notice what’s going on, she finds herself opening the rusty door - lifting it slightly and pushing it in - and her gaze immediately falls on the tiny figure who looks more impressive than she did the day before, if such thing is possible.

(Carmilla doesn’t think it is, but Laura seems intent on surprising her.)

“Hey,” she calls when Laura looks at her, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Carmilla, hey!” she squeaks out, and then, “What are you doing here?”

The brunette tilts her head to the side, lips curling in a smirk, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? _I’ve_ been coming here every Thursday, you, however, have… not.”

"Oh," Laura flushes. "I-" she bites her lip and then lets out a soft sigh, "I had a bad day."

Carmilla finds herself raising an eyebrow at Laura's answer. 

(It explains a lot, but she honestly didn't expect her to be so forthcoming.)

"I see," she nods, dropping her guitar case next to the couch and flopping on it, "So..." she curls her lips in an amused smile, taking in the girl in front of her, "You're the one who pissed off the Dean last year and almost got expelled."

Laura's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, "Almost got _expelled_?"

"According to the rumors," Carmilla shrugs, secretly loving the way Laura's cheeks seem to grow redder at her answer.

The blonde narrows her eyes, "And where exactly did these 'rumors'," she actually makes air quotes at this, though she's still holding her drumsticks and the whole thing is weird, "come from?"

Carmilla pretends to pick on her nails, "Some students, a few teachers," she pauses, meeting Laura's gaze, " The Dean herself."

_"What?"_

"Relax, Cupcake," she pulls her guitar from its case and starts plucking a few chords, "You're still here, right?"

Laura's lips are parted and she's blinking slowly at Carmilla, as if she wants to say something but isn't quite sure if she should. In the end, it seems she can't keep her mouth shut after all, because the words come spilling out anyway.

"I hardly think a couple of videos raising awareness to the lack of commitment the administration of this facility has with its students is a matter for expulsion," she lectures, her voice rising slightly, "If anything, they should be glad they're teaching students to have a sense of criticism, even if said criticism might come back to- well, bite them in the ass."

Carmilla is full-on grinning now, "Wow, aren't you a little spitfire?"

It's as if sweet, shy Laura suddenly vanished and in her place stands a strong and assertive young woman, and it all clicks in Carmilla's mind that Laura doesn't change when she plays the drums.

She frees herself.

It's dangerous for Carmilla to be making such deep observations in such a short amount of time, she knows. Because Laura seems like an incredible girl, who likes to help others and do what's _right_ , and Carmilla? 

Carmilla is an asshole.

(It's the worst combination in the world.)

(She would know, she's been through this.)

//

Laura isn't sure how to proceed.

She thinks she should leave because clearly Carmilla is not too fond of company (is she even fond of people _at all?_ ) and she had been coming to the shed long before Laura could even dream of its existence, so it's kind of the nice thing to do to leave her alone.

And yet, Laura isn't so sure of that.

She isn't sure because while Carmilla acts all cool and disaffected, the picture perfect of aloofness, her eyes seem to follow Laura's every move, traveling from her hands holding the drumsticks to her face and back again, not missing anything in between.

If Laura hadn't been so flushed from playing, she's convinced Carmilla's gaze would be enough to achieve the same result.

Is Carmilla- No, she wouldn't. They barely know each other.

"What happened?" Carmilla breaks the silence, and Laura realizes they've spent the past few minutes quietly gazing at each other.

"Huh?"

(Journalist extraordinaire, Laura Hollis.)

The guitarist seems amused, "Your day? You said it was bad," she shrugs, "What happened?"

Laura is sure that her surprise is written all over her face; Carmilla doesn't seem like the type of person to make small talk, but she doesn't strike the blonde as someone who would willingly jump into a heart-to-heart either.

"Uh," she hesitates, because now that her bandmate asked about it, her problems don't seem to be all that bad, "Just small things," she shrugs, "Annoying professors, idiotic boys who don't seem to have outgrown their teenage years."

"Ah," Carmilla nods, as if she knows exactly what Laura is talking about. 

(Maybe she does.)

"Boys," she drawls, leaning back and extending her legs across the couch, "Always the problem, never the solution."

Laura chuckles because, well, _yeah_.

"Tell me about it."

Carmilla glances at Laura for a moment, and then, "So, Cupcake, why the drums?"

The question takes her by surprise once again; it seems that Carmilla is intent on disproving everything everyone's ever said about her in the Silas' halls, every whisper and every accusation that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

Laura pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, pulling her cellphone from her pocket to check the time before finally turning back to Carmilla, "I think _that_ , is a topic for another day."

The brunette's eyebrows rise, or at least Laura thinks they do, because in a second her face is smooth and she's nodding, her usual smirk in place.

"Sure, cutie."

Her voice sounds slightly strained, but Laura doesn't let herself dwell too much on it as she grabs her things and moves towards the door.

"Good night, Carmilla," she says, biting lightly on her lip.

And again, the other girl throws her off, giving a small but honest smile, "Good night, Cupcake."

//

If there’s one thing in life LaFontaine basically lives for, are the quiet moments they get to spend with their girlfriend, simply basking in the way her hair curls around her ear whenever she pushes it back, or the way her nose curls up ever-so-slightly when she’s too focused on something.

It’s a cliché to talk about the little things, they know, but when it comes to Perry, that’s all they are.

(And if they never amount to be anything else, it’s fine by them.)

It’s funny, because they’ve spent so much of their time watching the other redhead, memorizing all the little intricacies of her body, every single curve and every single freckle - from the small birthmark on her thigh to the one on her left shoulder - and it still seems as if they discover something new every day. Something that makes them fall even deeper in love than they thought possible before she came along.

(Perry makes them believe everything is possible.)

“Sweetie?” she calls out, and LaFontaine blink slightly, realizing they’ve been staring for quite sometime.

They let out a small chuckle, “Sorry, baby. I got distracted.”

Perry rolls her eyes at them, but LaFontaine notices the smile tugging on her lips and leans in to press a kiss to them, which seems to satisfy the other redhead.

“I was asking if you’re done with your homework,” she explains, closing her books and stacking them on top of her desk.

“Not really,” they shrug, plucking a few chords on their guitar, which they’ve been quietly playing as Perry worked on her papers, “They’re not half as interesting as Perry-gazing.”

“You’re such a smooth talker,” their girlfriend smiles, taking the guitar and setting it aside.

When she cups LaFontaine’s face and brings them close together, they swear they can see the golden glints in her blue eyes.

(They’re breathless before their lips even touch.)

“Hey, Perr?” they ask, pulling back and nuzzling their nose against Perry’s.

“Sweetie?”

They smile as they lean down and press another kiss to their girlfriend’s lips, “Times Square can’t shine as bright as you.”

She hides her face in the curve of their neck and they can feel her breath as she lets out a soft whisper, one single word laced in the kind of adoration they’ve never known from anyone else, “ _LaFontaine._ ”

They press a kiss to her hair, then her nose, her cheeks and finally her lips, “I swear it’s true.”

//

**[Danny]**  
 _Hey, you think we could talk before tomorrow’s rehearsal?_

**[Laura H.]**  
 _Uh, okay? I can get there a bit earlier, if that works?_

**[Danny]**  
 _Cool! Yeah, totally. Awesome. See you tomorrow._

**[Laura H.]**  
 _See you!_

//

“So,” her brother starts, shoving half of a pizza slice in his mouth, “did you find a new drummer?”

Carmilla glares at him, “Swallow your food first, you’re not an animal.”

Will rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue as he chews his food and swallows it with a gulp of his grape soda, “So?”

“I did,” Carmilla nods, wrinkling her nose at a slice of olive that seems to have made its way to her pizza, “Laura Hollis, you know her? She’s a sophomore.”

He takes another bite, tilting his head in a way that make Carmilla feel as if she’s looking at a mirror. 

It’s to be expected, of course, because they did come out of their mother’s womb on the same day and since then have shared basically everything in life.

(Including a few girlfriends, at some point - which, no, she’s not proud to admit.)

But sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly contemplative, Carmilla still finds herself baffled at the idea that there’s a person in the world who shares not only her physical qualities but also the little mannerisms and habits that make her who she is.

(Or maybe make them who _they_ are.) 

(It’s some sort of mindfuck, seriously.)

“Wait,” Will snaps her out of her reveries, “Is that the kid who got mom really pissed last year?”

Carmilla smirks; it seems that Laura Hollis has made more of an impression than she originally thought.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

He finishes inhaling his third slice of pizza and when he leans back against the wall and pulls his feet on her bed, Carmilla throws him a slicing glare and immediately kicks them off. 

“Mother is gonna kill you when she hears about this,” he says, as if Carmilla didn’t know that already.

(She does. And she’s secretly glad.)

Will glances at her, “You’re just doing this to piss her off, aren’t you?”

(Or maybe not so secretly.)

“No,” she shakes her head, throwing the crust of her pizza back on the box and lying next to him, “I mean, I’m not saying that it won’t be one of the greatest things in my life to see her shit a brick over this, but Laura is actually _really_ good. We were lucky to find her.”

“Is she hot?” he wiggles his eyebrows, and Carmilla throws a pillow at his face.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to be an asshole?”

(She knows he doesn’t mean anything by it, but she’s surprisingly angry at the thought of her brother objectifying Laura.)

“Please,” he scoffs, “being an asshole was all mother _ever_ taught me.” he pauses, “Ever taught us, actually.”

She doesn’t say anything, because he’s right. If there’s one thing Karnsteins are exceptionally good at, that thing is being an asshole. 

(Carmilla even thinks she’s mastered it better than Will ever did.)

They’re silent for a moment, because true as her brother’s statement might be, it makes her bitter to realize that they’ve become so jaded that such things like their mother’s awful parenting skills don’t even phase them anymore. 

She bites her lip and glances a look at Will. When his eyes meets hers, she lets out a soft sigh, “She’s one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

He rolls his eyes and playfully shoves her shoulder, “Dude, you’re so screwed.”

(She shoves him back and tries to ignore how right he probably is.)

//

***Insert Band Name here***

**[L. Hollis]**  
 _So, do we not have a name or…?_

**[C. Karnstein]**  
 _We seem to find ourselves in an impasse whenever that question comes up._

**[LaFontaine]**  
 _Tell us about it, Dark Creatures._

**[C. Karnstein]**  
 _It’s a perfectly acceptable name, not to mention it gives us an edge._

**[D. Lawrence]**  
 _Yea, xcpt 4 the fact that the only creature of the nite here is u so that’s kinda egocentrical, don’t u think?_

**[C. Karnstein]**  
 _I think that I’m surprised you even know what egocentrical means, Big Foot, let alone how to properly spell it._

**[D. Lawrence]**  
 _Fuck you, Elvira._

**[C. Karnstein]**  
 _Oh, in your dreams, Skyscraper._

**[LaFontaine]**  
 _Here we go again…_

**[L. Hollis]**  
 _Are they always like this?_

**[D. Lawrence]**  
 _Not if u were the last prson in da whole wide universe._

**[LaFontaine]**  
 _Oh, no, usually just about 88% of the time. They do okay whenever they’re not talking to each other._

**[L. Hollis]**  
 _I guess that answers my question about our name_

**[C. Karnstein]**  
 _If I was, you’d be begging to touch me._

**[LaFontaine]**  
 _We’ll get there eventually, don’t worry_

//

Danny reaches the shed about one hour before rehearsal and she’s not surprised when she doesn’t find Laura there. 

(Laura is a sweetheart and all, but she’s awful at managing her time.)

Besides, Danny figures she can use the time to actually make sense of her thoughts and what she plans to tell Laura, so that there’s no doubt in both of their minds as to where they actually stand.

(It’s a good plan, considering she usually shoves her foot up in her mouth and fucks up everything.)

She sets the small container she picked on her way there on one of the amplifiers and falls down on the couch, pulling a beat up notebook and a pen from her bag. There are jumbled sentences and scratched out words with others written on top of it and Danny has to leaf through a few of them until she finds the page she’s looking for, mostly clean except for a couple of lines written and a few words highlighted at the bottom.

(And doodles, lots of doodles.)

As she begins to write, words flowing from her brain to the tip of her pen, she thinks of Laura and how things changed so much in the span of a year.

The truth is, Laura had fascinated Danny from the moment they met. 

She remembers the first time the girl had actively participated in a discussion during class and she could only think of Shakespeare’s _’A Midsummer Night’s Dream’_ and Helena’s words about Hermia, echoing in her head whenever she took a look at the small blonde.

_“Though she be but little, she is fierce!”_

(She didn’t fully grasp the meaning of that until it was too late.)

As she looks back now, Danny realizes that her interest in Laura had been more idealistic than she originally thought. She wanted to be the person that was by her side no matter what, who protected her at all costs and never let her get hurt; she just didn’t know that overprotectiveness was the opposite thing of what Laura wanted. Of what she needed.

But that was everything Danny could be - everything she _was_ , really - and she just couldn’t bring herself to change in order to make Laura more comfortable. And, in truth, it wasn’t fair for her to do that, accommodate to Laura’s expectations just so that she wouldn’t leave her.

If they couldn’t find a way to grow together, then they were better apart.

After one year - a lot of tears, words and broken chords - Danny has finally accepted that.

And now it’s time to let Laura know.

//

She's late.

(It's not surprising, much as she hates to admit this.)

"Hey!" she rushes out as she runs a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to settle it down, "Sorry, sorry! I totally misjudged how long it would take for me to finish reading- er, something."

From her seat on the couch, Danny raises a knowing eyebrow at her, "Fic update?"

"A new one," Laura confesses, cheeks reddening a lightly, "Completed, actually, but over two hundred thousand words long."

Danny shakes her head, laughing - because _obviously_ it’s that long, "That's okay, really," she points to the container resting on the amplifier, "I brought you pie."

Laura grins - she really, _really_ loves pie - and grabs the container before she takes a sit next to Danny, "Share?"

"Duh," Danny says - because is that even a question? 

She doesn't even blink before grabbing a fork and taking a piece of the pie - competition at the Summer Society house is insane and if you don’t eat fast, you don’t eat _at all_ \- and when the pieces of pecan blended with chocolate hit her tongue and melt in her mouth, she swears she can taste heaven, "This is _so_ good."

It dawns on Laura - as she watches Danny basically orgasm over a piece of chocolate pecan pie - that she can no longer feel the proverbial butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach, flapping its wings in a way that made impossible for her to breath whenever Danny gave her a smile or let her touch linger for a little while longer than it might be considered appropriate for a friendship.

“It really is,” she smiles over a bite (hers is much smaller than Danny’s), leaning back against the couch.

She wonders when things changed; breaking up with Danny had never been about her feelings towards the other girl, but rather a conflict in what it meant for them to be romantically involved. Maybe they could’ve grown to love each other, if not for the fact that Laura wanted the freedom to commit her mistakes and deal with their consequences and Danny just wanted to keep her from making them at all.

It was sweet, in theory, and other people would be glad to find someone like Danny.

(Laura just wasn’t that person - could never bring herself to be.)

Still, despite all of their differences, she _did_ feel something for Danny. Whether it was romantic or just physical, she isn’t sure, but there was definitely something there. And she realizes now, that despite still wanting the world for Danny, she just can’t see herself in that world as anything more than a friend.

It’s a little heartbreaking, to notice how things change so much in so little time.

“So,” she starts once they’re finished with one slice of pie (there are three, because Danny is nothing if not thoughtful), “What did you want to talk about?”

Danny doesn’t beat around the bush, “Us. Well, how we left things, actually.”

“Oh?” Laura bites her lip, settling her fork down, “Danny, I-”

“No, listen,” Danny interrupts, a smile on her lips and a little smudge of chocolate on her cheeks, which Laura moves to wipe it off before she can think better of it.

“Sorry,” she rushes out, quickly pulling back her hand, “I-”

Danny chuckles, “Laura, it’s cool, really,” she shrugs, “That’s actually kind of what I wanted to talk about.”

“Me... wiping something off your cheek?” 

“Not that,” Danny shakes her head, “This whole,” she gestures between them, “tension. Or whatever this is. If we’re gonna be in a band together, seeing each other all the time, we can’t be like this.”

Laura doesn’t know what to say. She knows where she stands, but she can’t make a move until she knows what exactly Danny is thinking and the other girl seems to know that, because she goes on before Laura can say anything.

“I know we left things in a weird place,” she says and Laura can see it in her face how much she regrets that, “but I don’t see why we should be like this when we no longer have feelings towards each other. No offense, you’re hot and all, but I kinda can’t see myself kissing you anymore.”

It’s like a weight has been lifted off Laura’s shoulder, “Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, not good, like- I just- you know. Good?”

Danny laughs and Laura realizes that this is the first time in over a year that she’s seen her do that. And though her heart doesn’t flutter and her cheeks don’t burn, she’s glad to know they can do that around each other again.

“It’s good, Tiny,” she says, and Laura smiles at the old nickname, “So, we don’t want to tear each other’s clothes. Awesome. I’m glad we could settle this. And, you know, I’m sorry again for all the shit that went down last year.”

Laura doesn’t say anything as she finishes the second slice of the pie and opens her arms to Danny, who doesn’t hesitate before bringing her into a hug.

(They’re still careful about the food sitting between them. Pie is too precious to be hurt.)

“I’m glad we could settle this,” Laura whispers into her hair, and Danny can feel the smile on her lips. “Because this would’ve been weird as fuck.”

Danny laughs just as the door opens behind them.

“Am I interrupting something?”

//

She’s a bit early, which is not unusual.

Laura and Danny almost on top of each other on the couch, however, is an entirely different matter.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, because, really, she’s an asshole like that.

She expects them to flush bright red and quickly disentangle from each other, but to her surprise, Danny presses a kiss to Laura’s cheek before calmly pulling back, shaking her head at Carmilla.

“Nah, we were just done, actually,” she says, and the way her eyes are glinting with something that Carmilla can’t quite pinpoint makes her want to punch Danny in the face.

(Which is also not unusual.)

Laura picks up something that’s sitting between them and raises it to Carmilla, “Chocolate pecan pie?”

“No, thanks,” she shakes her head and moves to take her guitar off its case, missing the small pout forming on Laura’s lips, “Where’s LaFontaine?”

Danny shrugs, "Probably on their way if Perry hasn't distracted them."

Carmilla rolls her eyes - she has lost count of how many times LaFontaine has missed rehearsal in favor of watching Perry do her homework or clean up her dorm.

(They clearly have their priorities sorted, Carmilla is not gonna try to change them.)

"We could start without them?" Laura suggests and when Carmilla looks at her, the piece of pie has vanished, "I can start picking up a few songs and then when they get here we can just see how the whole thing sounds?"

Danny glances at her - Carmilla is still a bit weirded out at how well they seem to communicate with just a look, seriously - and she nods, picking up her guitar strap and bringing it around her neck.

She twists a few tuning pegs and tries a few notes, before turning to Laura, "We can start with the covers, they'll probably be easier."

Laura has seated herself behind the drums and once again Carmilla is momentarily distracted by how she just seems to belong there.

(And maybe she's also distracted by the way Laura's fingers move so seamlessly as she twists her drumsticks around them.)

(She seems skilled with her fingers.)

She doesn't want to think about this, and if the scene she walked in earlier was any indication, she _shouldn't_. She might hate Danny 99% of the time (or at least severely dislike her), but she's still her bandmate and there's some kind of unspoken code or something.

Not that Carmilla cares, but whatever. 

(She likes being in a band and Danny is a good bassist, she would be hard to replace.)

Something hits her in the nose and she snaps towards Danny, glaring at her, " _What the fuck_ was that, Beanstalk?"

"Laura asked you something, you asshole."

(Well, that explains why Laura is looking at her so intensely.)

"Sorry," she apologizes and it's worth it just to see the way Danny's eyes leap out of their sockets at the sound of the word coming from her lips, "What did you want to know?"

Laura tilts her head and bites her lip and Carmilla tries her best to focus on her words and nothing else, which turns out to be one of the hardest things she's ever had to do in her entire life.

"You said we'd do the covers first?" 

Carmilla nods, "Yeah, why?"

"Does that mean you have original songs too?"

She seems slightly surprised and kind of in awe and Carmilla is not usually self-conscious about herself, but at that moment she swears she can feel her cheeks burning and seriously, what _is_ it about this girl?

“Yeah, uh," she runs a hand through her hair and glances a look at Danny and she's surprised to notice the girl doesn't seem to even been paying attention to their conversation, "we do. It's- we'll show it to you once LaF gets here. There are only a few, it's not a big deal."

"When did you become such a humble pie, Karnstein?" LaFontaine asks as they walk into the shed. 

Danny snorts and Carmilla glares at them, "Probably around the same time you lost your watch."

(It’s the worst comeback of her life.)

They shrug, "I was dropping Perry at work."

(Of course they were.)

Carmilla notices that Laura is avidly watching their interaction, her eyebrows furrowed in the cutest of ways. It goes without saying that she wants to hit herself in the head for even paying attention to these things.

(What is _happening_ to her?) 

"Can we just start this already? I'm starting to develop a migraine."

Her bandmates shrug and she turns on her amplifiers, hitting a green pedal and plucking a chord from her guitar.

She glances at LaFontaine and Danny, before turning to Laura, "Ain't It Fun, E major?"

Laura nods.

"Two, three-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's how it starts. You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.antisocialgod.tumblr.com) and track 'carmilla band au' for updates.
> 
> **Songs in this chapter:**
> 
>   * _Sweet Disposition_ by The Temper Trap (title)
>   * _Fluorescent Adolescent_ by Arctic Monkeys
>   * _Hate to Say I Told You So_ by The Hives
>   * _Hey There, Delilah_ by Plain White T's
>   * _Ain't It Fun_ by Paramore
> 



	2. i poured my aching heart into a pop song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there's bonding, danny wants to kill kirsch and laura is _really_ obsessed with taylor swift.
> 
>  **trigger warning:** implied drug use.  
>  (and a lot of cursing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I still don't own Carmilla nor the songs used in this chapter.
> 
> The response to this has been incredible and I cannot be more thankful to you guys. Writing so much in a week is a new experience for me, but your feedback made me power through, which means a lot. <3

Laura is sitting in the library - open books strewn across the table as she furiously types on her notebook - when a figure steps in front of her, effectively blocking her light.

When she looks up, Kirsch grins at her, "Hey, Little Nerd."

She grins back at him, saving her work and closing her computer as he pulls back a chair and takes a sit in front of her.

"Hey, Kirsch. What's up?"

Truth be told, Laura likes the dude. She thinks she always has, really, and it wasn't even a conscious thing at first. He looked like a puppy - oddly enough - and he behaved like one as well, and she just couldn't help but to be drawn by his cheerful personality.

Kirsch was fun and easy-going; spending time with him meant that Laura got to forget her day-to-day problems and talk about her favorite ice-cream flavors or binge watch TV shows that usually made her overly-excited, sprouting random facts while Kirsch tried his best to make sense of things.

(He usually gave up after a couple of episodes.)

It didn’t require much thought and it certainly didn’t require much effort.

Laura remembers only one time in all of their friendship where things had become strained - apparently Kirsch and Danny went together like oil and water - but things had fallen back in place when it became clear that her relationship with Danny wasn’t going to work out.

She remembers in clear details how Kirsch had showed up with an armful of sugary things and romantic comedies, staying with Laura throughout the weekend as she wondered if she’d made a mistake by being so forceful with her need for independence. Not once did he made her feel as if she had to justify her actions, and it made Laura feel good to have someone support her so much without asking for anything in return.

(It really wasn’t any wonder that they became almost inseparable after that.)

"Not much," he shrugs, "I came to return this book I borrowed that was such a mind fuck it made my head hurt, then I saw you here and I thought I'd check on my favorite nerd."

Her cheeks flush slightly at the nickname, "Well, you know," she points to the mess of books on the table, "I have papers due. And I have rehearsals like, all the time now, so I'm getting these out of the way while I can."

His lips split in a grin, leaning forward, “That’s right, you’re a badass drummer now.”

"Kirsch" she rolls her eyes, flicking her pen at him, “I’m hardly _badass_.”

He picks up the pen before it can hit him - goddamn football players and their reflexes - and starts twisting it around his finger.

(Or, well, trying. He fails miserably at it.)

“Of course you are,” he scoffs, “You’re, like, totally badass. But you’d still be badass even if you weren’t badass. You could be, like, totally not badass and still-”

Laura laughs, “I think I get your point.”

He tries to twirl the pen around his finger again, tongue peeking between his lips as he narrows his eyes - and Laura wonders if he thinks the object is personally offending him, or something. It makes her want to laugh, but she bites her lip and watches quietly until the pen falls for what is probably the tenth time and Kirsch finally gives up.

“So, what is your band called?”

Laura ducks her face, biting on her lower lip, "We don't have a name yet. Conflict of opinions and all that."

He nods, "That's still cool, though."

Laura watches as he goes thoughtful for a second and she's really, really tempted to take a picture of his face because it's just too cute. She can’t see herself doing this now, but if she still thought about boys in a romantic way, she's sure Kirsch would have gotten her all flustered, ranting about inane subjects and tumbling over things on her way.

(But she doesn't, so, really, she just wants to carry him around in her pocket.)

"Oh, hey!" Kirsch jumps, and the lady behind the checkout counter glares at them, "Your band could play at the Zeta Omega Mu Annual Holiday party!"

"That would be great, except I'm not sure we'll be ready by then," she pauses, tilting her head in thought, "Hey, do you wanna come to one of our rehearsals? Check it out, and all?"

Kirsch's grin nearly breaks his face, "Bro, that's, like, the best idea. You're so smart, I always knew you were smart."

She shakes her head, but there’s a grin on her face, "Yeah, yeah, you just want an awesome band at your party."

He shrugs, "Can you blame me?"

“No, I don’t suppose I can.”

She almost wants to take back the words, because they make him awfully smug.

_”Awesome.”_

//

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?”

“You do know talking to plants is not normal, right?”

“ _Jesus_ fu-” they turn around, hand clutching their chest. “Are you out of your mind? Don’t scare me like that!”

Carmilla rolls her eyes, walking further into the greenhouse and pulling herself up onto one of the benches. “Isn’t Perry at work?”

“She is,” LaFontaine nods, cutting a few stems from the plants in front of them, “but it doesn’t hurt to be careful, right?”

They feel bad as soon as the words leave their mouth.

It’s not that they want to hide things from Perry; they don’t - not at all. But LaFontaine’s interest in Biology stretches a bit further than their girlfriend can comprehend and maybe they just don’t want to start a fight over such a silly thing.

(They hope maybe one day they’ll be able to tell her without having her freaking out at them.)

Perry is the one person in their life they never want to disappoint, but they know her well enough to know that she probably wouldn’t condone their somewhat illegal activities, even if their purpose was mostly scientifical.

“Anyway,” Carmilla shrugs, drawing random swirls on the dirt that covers the bench she’s currently sitting on, “Do you have anything for me?”

(With one glaring exception.)

“Yeah, hold on.”

They move to the back of the greenhouse, picking up a small package from one of the pots piled up against the wall. 

They hand it to Carmilla, who brings it eye-level and grins, “Sometimes, LaFontaine, I swear I could kiss you.”

“No, you don’t,” they point out with a roll of their eyes, moving back to their plants.

“No, I really don’t,” Carmilla agrees. She puts the small pack in her pockets and LaFontaine feels her eyes on them as they check out the soil for their little plantation.

“What?” they ask, not bothering to look at her. 

(They already know what’s coming.)

“You could make easy money out of this,” Carmilla tells them and they roll their eyes because, _they know_.

“I already told you that it’s just a hobby,” LaFontaine explains yet again. “I like the way they grow and the intricacies of their biology. I like mixing the strands and coming up with new things. I don’t, however, want to use it _nor_ do I want to sell it.”

Their bandmate tilts her head, “But you give them to me.”

It’s true, they do. But that has most to do with the knowledge they have that Carmilla will never need to go anywhere else for it and that they’ll be able to keep things from getting out of control.

They don’t tell her that, though. She would flip her shit if she knew Perry’s mothering tendencies have rubbed off on them.

Instead, they give her what they hope is a nonchalant shrug, “It’s good shit, it would be rude not to share.”

It seems a good enough answer for Carmilla, which they already expected. 

She pulls her feet up and leans back against the glass wall, producing a book out of fucking _nowhere_ and LaFontaine is left to roll their eyes at how predictable she is.

When she starts reading, LaFontaine’s attention moves back to their plants - carefully plucking dead leaves and spraying water at them - and they let themselves enjoy the quiet companionship that settles over Carmilla and them.

The silence is one of the best parts of their relationship; they don’t tend to intrude in each other’s lives much. Yes, between rehearsals, shared classes and just generally hanging out, it’s pretty much a given that they’re always together and - normally - it would be hard to keep things separated, but Carmilla is pretty good at knowing when to push something and when to let it go. 

(Most of the time she lets it go; it’s particularly hard to make Carmilla care about anything.)

//

**[Elvira]**   
_5pm today?_

**[VP OR SS Danny]**   
_Nope, practice. Make it 7:30pm. Bring food._

**[Elvira]**   
_Whatever._

//

Danny likes to run.

Scratch that. Danny _loves_ to run.

Running makes her feel free in a way that nothing ever could. It’s as close as she can come to flying and she can’t quite bring to words how exactly it makes her feel. It’s like when things don’t make sense, Danny just runs.

Not in the figurative way. Not in the way that leaves people close to her disappointed or hurt. No, she doesn’t think she could ever run from the things that matter. In some twisted way, it’s as if the feeling of her legs moving as fast as they can go around a field track makes up for the times she’s wanted to _actually_ go away from everything.

She loves running because, in all reality, it’s the one thing in her life she could never do.

It’s not as if being reliable is a bad quality to have, though. Danny appreciates the fact that people know they can count on her, no matter what. She gets to wake up everyday knowing that she helped her sisters in every way she could, sometimes even without them needing to ask for help at all. Not to mention people like Perry, LaFontaine and, hell, even Carmilla.

(She rubs that in her face every chance she has, though, so maybe that’s not entirely selfless.)

It’s just, sometimes she wishes she knew how to say _‘no’_. She wishes she could just turn away from people that are out to hurt her, or take advantage of her. Danny doesn’t regret the mistakes she made in life - not when they made her the person she is today - but maybe her life would’ve been easier if she just knew how to turn around and simply _let go_.

 _“Watch out!”_ she hears in the distance, right before a football lands on the side of her face, effectively making her see stars during broad daylight.

(Some things are just too hard to let it go.)

//

Danny is gonna kill him. 

Actually, he’s convinced she’s gonna do worst. First she’s gonna torture him. She’s gonna break all his fingers, rip all his nails, pull out his tongue through his mouth and his brains through his nose, rip off his skin, disembowel him and _then_ she’s gonna kill him.

His life is over.

(He led a good one, sure, but he’s slightly upset that he didn’t get to do the one thing he, like, _really_ wanted to do in life.)

“ _Shit,_ Danny,” he rushes to her, hands stretched towards her shoulder.

“ _Do not_ ,” she snaps and he takes a step back because, _woah_ , she’s mad, “touch me.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry.”

That doesn’t seem to help, “ _What the fuck_ were you doing?”

Kirsch doesn’t reply because he thinks it’s quite obvious. The track team practices the same time the football team does and they’ve been doing that long before the both of them got to Silas so it’s not like Danny doesn’t know what’s going on.

She’s probably just _really_ pissed.

“Are you okay?” he asks instead, because the ball came at her from pretty high and he doesn’t want her to, like, have a concussion or something.

She glares at him, opening her mouth and immediately closing it shut with a hiss of pain, “Just peachy.”

“Uh,” he bites his lip, wondering if he should tell her or not. In the end, he decides he’s already screwed, so he might as well, “your cheek is actually kinda growing really fast right now, so I don’t, uh, think you are.”

He really should just keep his mouth shut.

 _”What?_ she clenches her jaw, turning on her heels and running towards the locker rooms.

He glances around him and notices that both his football and her track teammates are watching the scene unfold and he doesn’t think twice before running after her.

(As if the Summer Society didn’t have reason enough to hate the Zetas already.)

//

Danny is leaning over a sink, hands tightly gripping the white porcelain as she stares at the rapid swelling of her right cheek. She can see the blood pooling just under the surface where the football hit her, a mixture of purple and red against her incredibly fair skin.

She’s gonna _kill_ Kirsch.

Logically speaking, she knows it was an accident. Honestly, the odds of a moving object hitting her _as_ she was running were pretty slim to begin with, but her brain refuses to acknowledge logical things whenever any Zeta is concerned, especially if such Zeta is Brody Kirsch.

“Hey- uh, are you okay?”

(And speaking of the devil.)

She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she meets his gaze through the mirror, “Do I _look_ okay to you, you dumbfuck?”

He looks incredibly guilty and Danny ignores the weird shift in her stomach at the sight of his puppy dog eyes, instead choosing to nurture the anger that she can feel boiling inside her, begging to explode. 

“I brought you this,” Kirsch says, producing an instant ice pack from behind his back and hesitantly moving closer to her, “We have injuries all the time and coach says it’s best to ice it before it gets too big.”

She opens her mouth to say something cutting - _anything_ , really - but she’s left looking like a fool with her mouth dropped and no words coming out whatsoever, which Kirsch apparently takes as permission to approach her.

Before her brain can catch up with the events, she feels something cool against her cheek and a hiss immediately leaves her lips.

“Sorry!” Kirsch winces, and pulls back slightly, before pressing the bag again, “Sorry, my bad.”

In the back of her mind, Danny realizes that he is _close_. Way too close and probably further into her space than she’s ever allowed him to be in any other circumstance than the ones that weren’t violent. She can smell his ridiculous male deodorant - something like fucking axe, she’s sure - mixed with sweat and it should _not_ be making her as delirious as it is.

(Maybe that ball hit her head harder than she thought.)

The thought that she could be considering his stench of male ego anything remotely pleasant snaps Danny back into reality and she immediately reaches for the ice pack, using her free hand to shove him away from her.

“Get the fuck out,” she grits out, ignoring the fact that the ice pack _is_ helping, “If you don’t leave in the next five seconds, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Kirsch - not surprisingly - is not willing to take her orders. He stays put, his head tilted and his brows furrowed and Danny has to close her eyes because she cannot deal with his face when it’s scrunched up like that.

“Kirsch, _leave_.”

She counts to five and opens her eyes. 

He’s gone.

(She ignores the way something inside her chest seems to drop when she realizes she’s alone.)

//

The coffee shop next to the Robespierre building is the biggest one on campus, which it means that it has over six tables, as opposed to the usual two. It’s usually packed in between classes or early in the morning, but afternoon shifts are particularly dull. There’s the occasional caffeine addicted who just _needs_ a drink or the British descendants who can’t miss on tea time, but most days Perry spends her time doing classwork or texting LaFontaine.

(Mostly texting, though.)

Which makes it no surprise when her phone vibrates in her pocket, just a couple of hours after her shift begins.

She takes it out, already knowing who it might be, but still having to bite her lower lip to keep from grinning as she reads LaFontaine’s contact name on the screen.

**[Sweetie]**   
_You know what I just realized?_

**[Lola Perry]**   
_That I was right all along and brownies are better than cupcakes?_

**[Sweetie]**   
_Baby, don’t go breaking my heart ):_

She gives up trying to keep her grin concealed and lets it spread on her lips, turning around and leaning against the counter as she types out an answer.

**[Lola Perry]**   
_I couldn’t if I tried, sweetie. s2_

**[Sweetie]**   
_Anyway, you totally ruined it now. I can’t do two songs, it makes me lame_

Perry rolls her eyes, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she thinks of all the ways LaFontaine could never _be_ lame. Someone like Carmilla would probably disagree and say that these are the exact reasons why they’re _’lame as fuck’_ , but Perry doesn’t mind being biased when it comes to these sort of things.

So she tells them that.

**[Lola Perry]**   
_You could never be lame, silly._

**[Sweetie]**   
_I know, right? you’re lucky to date someone so awesome_

**[Lola Perry]**   
_If there’s an alternative universe out there where you’re the lamest person in the world and alternative universe Perry isn’t dating you, she’s missing out._

**[Sweetie]**   
_Okay, forget my last message, I’m the one who’s lucky to date you :)))_

She glances up when the frontdoor bell rings, announcing a new customer. Glancing down at her phone, she quickly types out a message, her grin stretching wider when LaFontaine answers almost immediately.

**[Lola Perry]**   
_We’re both lucky, love. I gotta go back to work, pick me up at 6pm?_

**[Sweetie]**   
_It’s a date. ;)_

(She really is hopelessly in love with her best friend.)

(And she wouldn’t have it any other way.)

//

Carmilla is surprised to find that, when she gets to the shed - guitar case strapped around her shoulders and pizza box in hand - Danny is already there.

She doesn't say anything, of course, but they both know how Danny is almost always late because she knows it annoys Carmilla and she just gets a kick out doing that. It's happened so many times that she started being late herself - though she completely despised the idea - so that she wouldn't be left waiting however long Danny seemed fit on that particular day.

(Carmilla _really_ doesn’t like Danny Lawrence.)

"Empire State," she nods as she walks in, unceremoniously dropping the pizza box on Danny's lap.

The bassist rolls her eyes at her, and Carmilla's eyes fall on the red swell of her cheek, to which Danny rolls her eyes, "Stupid fucking football players, don't ask." 

Carmilla nods. They're not friends and, in any case, she's sure she's gonna hear the story eventually. 

Danny glances down at the box on her lap and frowns, "Tell me something, do you live on a diet based on pizza?"

"That's stupid," Carmilla scoffs. She eats a lot of pizza, yes, but it's not _all_ she eats. "Will doesn't have to pay for them, I would be stupid not to take advantage of that. Especially when it means spending money buying _you_ food."

Danny opens the box, not fazed in the slightest by Carmilla's jab, "Aww, at least you remembered my favorite. I'm touched."

"I have no fucking clue what your favorite pizza is, Jolly Ginger Giant."

And it's true, she doesn't. She just called Will and asked him if he could get her something to feed Danny and she picked it up on her way to the shed. She didn't even bother to check what toppings were on the pizza, to be honest.

"Yeah, whatever," Danny rolls her eyes, but decides to drop the subject, "What did you wanna show me?"

Carmilla pulls a sketchbook from the pocket of her guitar case and opens it up to Danny, who finishes shoving a slice of pizza in her mouth and makes a move to grab it.

"Clean your hand first," she snarls, slapping the hand away.

Danny huffs but wipes her hand on her obnoxiously green jeans, "You're so fucking rude."

It's not the first time she's heard that - and certainly not from Danny - so Carmilla only shrugs and watches as the bassist's eyes run over the page.

Danny bites her lower lip and nods to herself a couple of times before extending her hand to Carmilla, who promptly hands her a pen.

After a few minutes of bitten lips and furrowed eyebrows, the sketchbook is handed back to her as Danny pulls her bass from its case and starts playing a melody that immediately snaps something inside Carmilla.

"I'll cue you in, yeah?"

She grabs her guitar and settles the sketchpad between them, listening for a moment before Danny nods and Carmilla's guitar joins the sound of the bass right before her voice comes along.

_"The path is long, it’s cold and wet..."_

Danny stops strumming her bass and instead let’s her hand softly hit the body of the instrument, a small beat joining Carmilla’s guitar until they reach the bridge.

"Wait," Danny stops, cutting off the music and pulling the sketchpad to herself. She scratches out a few words and writes something on top, only to cross them out again, "This isn't sounding right."

"How about we start slow, repeat the bridge the second time around and speed the tempo right before the chorus," Carmilla plays a few notes on her guitar, "like this, and then we go back to the old words?"

Danny tries it on her bass and writes the words again, "Okay, but give a break before you start the chorus, yeah? Let’s go."

She starts the beat again and soon Carmilla's voice fills the room; the music is barely nothing with only a guitar and her makeshift drum, but she thinks they can make something out of it once they bring it to LaFontaine and, especially, Laura. 

Once they run over it a couple of times, Danny settles her bass aside and grabs another slice of pizza.

Carmilla closes the notebook and turns to her, "So," she starts and she hopes she sounds as indifferent as she seems to think she does, "You and Cupcake, huh?"

Danny furrows her eyebrows, "I'm eating pizza, are you blind?"

She lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tries not to snap at Danny.

(Sometimes it's just way too hard to deal with her.)

"I meant _Laura_ , you brainless creature."

Danny's eyes widen in understanding, "Oh!" she takes another bite of her pizza and Carmilla wonders how anyone can think pineapple, cheese and ham go well together, "What about it?"

"Well, I just don't want to have to replace any of you if things should go... wrong, again."

"Why would they go wrong?" Danny asks, tilting her head and throwing her an innocent look which Carmilla doesn't buy for a second.

(She's an asshole, yes, but Danny Lawrence is on a league of her own.)

"Didn't they go wrong before?" she raises an eyebrow; two can play this game.

Danny doesn't seem as upset as Carmilla expects, "Well, yeah, but that was before." she shrugs, "What is it to you, anyway?"

Carmilla narrows her eyes, "I told you, even if you're mediocre at best, you're already used to how things work and I've already had my share of suffering trying to find a drummer, I won't go through it again just because you and Miss Innocence couldn't deal with your shit."

She snaps her lips shut and glances away from Danny for a second, only to have her desire to kill her multiply tenfold when she glances back and Danny is fucking _smirking_.

"Why, Samara, I didn't know you felt so strongly about this."

She scoffs, "I don't."

Danny's smirk becomes more infuriating, "Anyway," she finishes another slice of pizza. "There's no Laura and I. That ship has sailed a long time ago."

Carmilla's eyes widen before she can even think of schooling her features into anything resembling her usual lack of interest.

"What?"

Danny leans back on the couch, pulling her bass on top of her lap again, "Are you deaf? Laura and I aren't together. You don't have to worry about replacing us."

"Oh."

"Yeah, now pick up your guitar and do something useful with my time."

Carmilla does.

(Not because Danny told her to, but because she needs to distract herself before she manages to shove her foot further into her mouth and make more of an idiot of herself.)

(She really, _really_ dislikes Danny Lawrence.)

//

The music on her dock stops playing and Laura glances over it, glaring at it for a second until it starts again, the same song she’s been hearing on a loop for the past week or so. The same song she can now sing the words from beginning to end and then backwards, and the song she can now predict every shift in the tempo and melody, even the tiniest, barely perceptible ones.

It’s dumb. 

It’s fucking dumb.

(Laura isn’t one for cursing, but she figures she’s allowed to do so in her mind.)

(Sometimes.)

She tried to get rid of the obsession. She went through all of the songs on her iPod (and there are _a lot_ ) and then she went on spotify, deezer, 8tracks and even the lastfm radios and nothing, _nothing_ worked. 

She loves Taylor Swift with a burning passion - she does, _really_ \- but she’s gotten to the point where she’s about to close her eyes, take a deep breath, hit delete on iTunes and say goodbye to the discography she cherished so much she bought it both the digital and the physical copies.

(The CDs are stacked on a shelf in her room back home, so - thankfully - she doesn’t have to burn them.)

(Yet.)

She flops back against her bed with a groan. The song reaches its chorus and Laura blindly reaches for a pillow, pulling it against her face and trying to muffle the sound that seems to be building around her. When it doesn’t work, she lets out a frustrated scream and pulls the pillow back, throwing it aside as she looks around her room for something, _anything_ to do.

Her gaze falls on an object sitting next to her stack of drumsticks and she shrugs before getting up to retrieve it.

Might as well make something out of this mess, right?

She stops the music and starts it again, listening to it one more time before she completely shuts it off and pulls the pink object closer to her body. With a deep breath, she wraps her hand around the neck of her ukulele and sets the tip of her fingers against the chords, her left hand moving just above the soundhole as she starts to play a few notes, trying to figure out the best way to go.

Once she’s satisfied, she closes her eyes and starts the song.

_“All I knew this morning when I woke, is I know something now, know something now, I didn't before…”_

//

**[Kirsch]**   
_so??????????_

**[Will K.]**   
_so wut, bro?_

**[Kirsch]**   
_did u give her da pizza???_

**[Will K.]**   
_ohhhhh yea, i did_

**[Kirsch]**   
_hawaiian, rite?_

**[Will K.]**   
_yup, thx 4 da help, carmilla is a shitty frnd_

**[Kirsch]**   
_bro, they rn’t frnds_

**[Will K.]**   
_rn’t they in a bnd 2gther?_

**[Kirsch]**   
_yea, bt they h8 ech othr_

**[Will K.]**   
_chicks r so cnfusin_

**[Kirsch]**   
_tell me bout it, bro_

**[Will K.]**   
_cod?_

**[Kirsch]**   
_u’re on_

//

“Mother called earlier today,” Will breaks the silence as he walks side by side with his sister, taking a sip of his coffee.

He glances at Carmilla after the words come out of his mouth and he can tell she’s rolling her eyes at him, even if he can’t actually see them due to the dark sunglasses carefully balanced against her nose, despite the fact that there’s virtually no sun outside.

(He can’t blame her, he’s wearing them too.)

“Joy,” Carmilla deadpans, “What did she want?”

He kicks a small rock on his way, wondering if he should have even bothered telling her this. It’ll probably only do more harm than good, considering the way things work in the Karnstein household.

“Talk to you,” he answers, figuring he might as well go for it. “She said she called your phone and you didn’t answer.”

Carmilla lets out a scoff as she takes her drink to her lips, “Yeah, there’s a reason for that.”

Will knows there are _plenty_ of reasons for that, ranging from silly arguments to real fights spanning the twenty one years of their lives, but he doesn’t wish to talk about them anymore than Carmilla does. He gets less reprimand from their mother because _‘boys will be boys’_ and he knows how unfair it is that his sister has to burden the weight of both of their mistakes, but try as he might, he just can’t make things better for her.

He knows how to play their mother; he knows how to bow his head when he has to, when to say _’Yes, Mother’_ and _’No, Mother’_. It’s no wonder Carmilla calls him _’momma’s boy_. But it all stems from the fact that Will has seen his sister’s struggles when going head-first against their mother’s rules and expectations and it hasn’t done her any good. It’s tiresome to watch Carmilla struggle to meet expectations and failing terribly because their mother just can’t see past her “wrongs” to acknowledge her rights.

(Mother is a far-right republican, the Dean of Students and only child of a traditional family.)

(Will is a straight boy, pre-law student with a golden future.)

(Carmilla is a lesbian girl, philosophy major, with a rock band on the side.)

(It’s not hard to see how things work.)

“She wants to make sure you’ll be home for Thanksgiving,” he says, because he already started, so there’s no point in taking it back now. “I told her that I would talk to you, but that I didn’t think you would.”

Home is a bit of a stretch, really. It’s their mother’s current house in Styria, but it means as much to them as the other twenty houses around the world they’ve lived when growing up. He knows Carmilla likes going there just as much as he does - which is, honestly, not at all - so they tend to avoid the place whenever they can, but sometimes family obligations are hard to ignore.

“Will you be there?” she asks, tilting her head towards him.

Will sighs, shaking his head, “No. The Zetas are celebrating Thanksgiving together as a “bonding” thing, or whatever.”

She finishes her coffee and throws the cup on a nearby trash can, “Then I don’t know what makes her think I’ll willingly subject myself to her special brand of torture, especially if dearest Grandmother and Grandfather will be there.”

“You should let her know, then.”

Carmilla glares at him, “Stop being such a chickenshit, William.”

He rolls his eyes, shoving one hand into his pocket. He knows Carmilla is only lashing out at him because she can’t lash out at their mother or their grandparents. When it comes to them, she’s reduced to biting remarks and small rebellious acts, but he knows how much she hates to be that powerless. So he lets her insult him and he doesn’t say anything, because, in the end, he knows she doesn’t really mean it.

(If this is what it takes to ease some of her burden, he’ll gladly accept it.)

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes and throws his empty cup away before bumping his shoulder against hers, “So, what are you gonna do, then? I’d invite you to the Zeta dinner but, sadly, no girls allowed. Which, you know, sucks, because I really like girls.”

It’s a poor attempt to lift her mood, but he’s satisfied when he sees her lips curl up in the smirk she’s mastered so well over the years.

“Oh, trust me,” she punches his arm and even though it’s probably harder than she meant to, he doesn’t really feel it, “I know how much you like girls. Granted, not as much as I do, but still an impressive amount.”

He grins and moves his arm around her neck, pulling her in a headlock and messing up her hair, which he knows she absolutely _hates_ ,“You’re so full of yourself, Karnstein.”

 _”William,”_ she hisses, struggling against his hold. “Let me go, you fucker.”

He lets her struggle a bit more before he releases her, taking a few steps away from her when she moves to punch his arm again. 

“Woah there, tiger.”

She huffs, fixing her hair and pushing up her sunglasses, “You’re such a jerk.”

“I love you too, sis,” he taunts her, opening the door to the shed and making an exaggerated motion to let her in. 

She flips him up and doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. He knows her better than he knows himself and the little things mean more to them than the big declarations.

(They’re not really good at those, in any case.)

//

There’s one thing to be said about the band’s rehearsal place and that is: it was not made to hold seven people, two guitars, one bass, one electronic keyboard and one drum kit.

Especially when, half of the said people, happen to hate each other.

Laura, of course, hadn’t realized that until it was too late and the mess was already made. She didn’t think much of inviting Kirsch; playing at the Zeta party seemed like a cool idea and it could make them known around campus, which would, in theory, imply more gigs for them. And, since more gigs meant maybe actual money and a little bit of fame - even if just within the Silas community - Laura figured that it really wasn’t a bad idea.

But that was twenty four hours ago. 

Now, she’s not so sure.

“What the _fuck_ is he doing here?” Danny snaps as soon as they enter she shed, her skin quickly turning the color of her hair.

It takes Laura a moment to realize she’s talking about Kirsch, who has already walked inside and made himself comfortable next to Will, the two of them sharing a weird and intricate handshake that Laura has no idea how they even manage to remember all the moves.

(She doesn’t even know why she’s paying attention to that.)

“Hey, Summer Psycho,” Kirsch says, his large form taking most of the old couch they have in the shed. He then turns to the other people in the room, “Perry, LaFontaine, She-Will.”

“Her name is _Carmilla_ , you idiot,” Danny snaps and Laura can’t tell who in the room is more surprised by the statement - Carmilla or Danny herself.

(She thinks it’s a tie, given how wide-eyed they both are.)

Kirsch rolls his eyes, “I know that. It’s a _joke_. Because they’re twins. So they’re, like, the same person.”

“Kirsch has made us an offer to play at the Zeta Omega Mu Annual Holiday party,” Laura informs the group, hoping that the interruption will distract Danny. “So I figured he could come here and check how we’re doing.”

Danny narrows her eyes, “We’re not playing at a Zeta party.”

“Wait,” LaFontaine calls, moving away from where they’ve been sitting next to Perry, “Why not? I mean, isn’t that the whole point of this thing? Getting gigs?”

Carmilla nods, “Darwin has a point.”

"We'll get another gig," Danny assures them, her arms crossing against her chest as she glares at Kirsch. "But we're _not_ playing at their party."

Kirsch puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself forward, "What the hell is your problem with me?"

"What, you need one besides the fact that you threw a fucking football on my face yesterday?"

"It was an accident!"

Laura is rooted in her spot, eyes going from Danny to Kirsch as she watches their fight unfold before them. She knew they had issues with each other, but she didn’t realize how deep their rivalry actually went. 

She steals a glance at Carmilla and is slightly surprised to find her sitting next to her brother, both of them bearing identical blank expressions on their faces. She drowns out Kirsch and Danny’s argument as she lets herself actually observe the Karnstein twins.

Carmilla is pretty. Actually, scratch that, Carmilla is _gorgeous_. Laura has been around her for a little over a week and already she finds herself drawn towards her. And she knows herself enough to know that whenever she gets more obsessive than usual with Taylor Swift, she’s basically screwed.

(And she’s _really_ obsessed.)

What strikes her then, however, is how Carmilla and Will are alike, yet so different. Sure, they’re twins, which basically means they share a lot of similarities, but even though Laura can notice the pointed nose and expressive eyebrows - and the fact that Will is undoubtedly handsome - she doesn’t think he could make her listen to _’Everything Has Changed’_ on a loop for an entire week.

(Maybe it has to do with the fact that she’s gay, but, well, _details_.)

(Still, she’s never been around twins, so she can’t help staring at them.)

(It’s kind of scary how they even move the same way.)

“Enough!” Perry calls out, effectively ending Kirsch and Danny’s fight and pulling Laura out of her thoughts. “Will you be rehearsing today or not? Because if not, I’d like to make much better use of my partner than I am making right now, which is, you know, _none at all._ ”

Carmilla wrinkles her nose, “That’s disgusting.”

“I would have to disagree,” LaFontaine wiggles their eyebrow, a grin on their face, and Laura can’t help the giggle that escape her lips, which immediately draws Carmilla’s attention to her.

They stare at each other for a moment and Laura is the one to break eye-contact when she notices a small smile tugging on Carmilla’s lips. She can feel her cheeks burning and she has to bite her lip to keep a childish giggle from escaping them.

“Whatever,” Danny sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Let’s do this.”

Perry seems satisfied and settles back on the couch, pulling out a pair of knitting needles, which Laura has to blink twice to make sure they’re _actually_ there.

(They are. She’s not going crazy.)

“Cupcake,” Carmilla calls once Laura has settled on the drums, “Pick a song." she glances at Danny, "Something with a heavy beat."

Laura nods, thinking for a second before she calls out a song, not wasting any time as she lets her drumsticks fall against the drums, muscle memory instantly taking over her.

 _"You are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down,"_ Carmilla's voice fills the room, equal parts angry and amazing. _"Strike a match and I'll burn you to the ground."_

Danny seems to be giving everything she has as she pulls on her bass strings, hair flipping against her face as her head moves in time with the beat. 

(Laura is pretty sure she's not even realizing Kirsch is there anymore.)

//

_Holy shit._

They’re good. 

(Which, granted, is not really that surprising.) 

It’s just, Kirsch can’t really explain it, but it’s different - in his mind, at least - to _know_ that they can do one thing and then actually _see_ them do it. Danny and Carmilla can instill the fear of God in people, so it’s no wonder they can pull out the rocker thing so well; LaFontaine looks more like they’re somewhere in-between indie and folk, but somehow it still works for them.

Laura is a surprise all on her own. He didn’t think his tiny, cute, nerdy friend could play the drums so fiercely. She’s not the type, but at the same time, that’s part of the reason she looks so amazing behind a drum kit.

Kirsch doesn’t say things lightly--

Well, that’s a lie, he kinda does. All the time. But, this? 

The four girls standing in front of him playing a damn fine cover of a Fall Out Boy song? 

They’re legit.

And, really, he’s from Portland - he grew up surrounded by wannabe rock bands. He’s been going to their concerts ever since he was a scrawny teenager, rocking out to Blink 182, Green Day and The Offspring and he’s never seen anything quite like what he’s seeing right now.

 _”Dude,”_ he turns to Will, an excited grin on his face.

Will nods, his eyes falling on his sister for a moment before he looks back at Kirsch, “I know, right?”

“They’re _awesome._ ”

“Of course they’re awesome,” Perry says, not looking up from the shapeless thing she’s knitting. “Did you honestly think otherwise?”

He shakes his head, “No, but they’re, like, more awesome than I thought.”

Kirsch watches as Perry shakes her head, muttering something that he thinks it sounds like _’Boys’_ but he can’t be quite sure, because Laura is _really_ hitting those drums.

They’re so gonna make it big. He just knows it. It’s like that gut feeling thing that chicks claim to have.

(They really need to agree on a name, though.)

(Like, _soon._ )

//

LaFontaine lets their fingers move slowly against the electric keyboard as the last song of their rehearsal comes to an end.

They’re tired, the tip of their fingers are sore and they’re sure they’re gonna have blisters all over them tomorrow, but they couldn’t be more satisfied. They thought having Kirsch there would make Danny too angry to play, but it seems that it only had the opposite effect, really; Danny seemed more into the music than she’s ever been before, hitting every note and getting every shift right, making the rest of them having to sweat to keep up with her.

It was as if she was trying to prove something to Kirsch and, _boy_ , did she prove it.

“Fucking hell!” 

Perry snaps her head at them once she hears the words, but LaFontaine is too excited to even feel sorry about it, so they only send a sheepish grin on their girlfriend’s way and let their shoulders rise and fall in an attempt to appease Perry’s rage.

(She only rolls her eyes at them, so they think it works.)

“Oh my God,” Laura breathes out, pulling out a small towel from behind her back and drying her forehead with it, “That was _insane_.”

“It seems Miss Skyscraper was on roll tonight.”

Danny rolls her eyes, “I’m not even gonna bother with you tonight, Morticia.” she grins, “I’m so pumped up. This is totally the best we’ve ever played.”

“So you’re totally gonna play at the Zeta party, right?” Kirsch pipes up, getting up from the couch and tapping Will on the shoulder, who glances at his phone and does the same.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Danny waves them off, slipping her bass into its case, “I don’t even care anymore.”

“For real?”

Carmilla sends LaFontaine a glance and they shrug - a gig is a gig, they’re not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth - and then Carmilla’s gaze fall on Laura, who nods in that cute and excited way that’s just so _her_ and it makes LaFontaine smiles because this is _really_ happening.

Sure, the whole point of being in a band was actually _making_ something out of it, but they’ve been at it for over two years - most of which were spent trying to make Danny and Carmilla work together - and they hadn’t really _been_ anything until Carmilla’s bright idea of bringing in a new member.

(And, honestly, they think they still wouldn’t be anything if such member hadn’t been Laura.)

“We’ll do it,” Carmilla assures Kirsch, and LaFontaine is slightly surprised to find that she looks as close to _excited_ as they’ve ever seen her.

_”Sick.”_

“We gotta head out now, night shift at work. Later, sis,” Will says, and LaFontaine watches as he punches Carmilla’s shoulder and gets a glare from her, before nodding to everyone else and leaving, Kirsch hot on his trail - but with a much more excited goodbye.

“Oh, no, don’t leave!” Danny calls out after them, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She rolls her eyes to herself, “He’s an idiot, you know, but whatever,” she mutters, taking her bass case and wrapping the straps around her shoulders, “See you next week, guys.”

“Bye Danny!” Laura calls from where she’s still sitting behind the drums, moving her drumsticks up and down as if she just can’t keep herself still. 

“Have a good Thanksgiving, Danny.” 

“Yeah,” LaFontaine nods after their girlfriend, bumping fists with Danny a she walks by them. “Leave some pie for your sisters.”

Danny laughs, “Not making any promises.” 

She shares a look and a nod with Carmilla, and then she’s out of the door.

Perry seems to have put away her knitting tools and so LaFontaine extends their hand to her, which she promptly takes, lacing their fingers together and pulling them for a quick kiss.

“Shall we, Milady?”

“Yes, we shall.”

They call out their goodbyes to Laura and Carmilla, who wave and grunt - respectively - at Perry and them, before they walk out of the shed, the cool night air hitting them. They pull their girlfriend closer and press their nose against her neck, inhaling her delicious citrus perfume.

“You guys were amazing, sweetie.”

LaFontaine laughs, “You weren’t even watching us, baby. Did you finish the sweater?”

She shakes her head, “No, but it’ll be done by Hanukkah, don’t worry.”

“I don’t.”

(And they really don’t. Not when it comes to Perry.)

//

“So, it seems like it’s just you and I, Creampuff.” 

Laura tilts her head to the side, watching as Carmilla finishes putting away her guitar, “You really like pastries, don’t you?”

Carmilla chortles, “I suppose I like them just fine.”

“So does that mean you like me _just fine_?”

She turns to see the small frown on Laura’s face and bites her lip, trying to find the best way to explain that she has absolutely no idea how _much_ she likes Laura yet, only that she sorta does, which is more than Carmilla can say for anyone else in her life other than William, really.

(And maybe LaFontaine and Perry.)

(Not Danny, though.)

“Now that’s a loaded question,” it’s what she settles with, because even though Laura may not have any idea, it really _is_.

Laura lets out a mumbled apology and steps from behind the drum set, shoving her drumsticks into her back pockets, and Carmilla is slightly distracted by her combo of loose tank top and lace bralette, which makes it impossible for her not to stare at Laura’s toned arms or the slivers of skin that aren’t covered by either cotton or lace.

“Well, goodnight, then,” Laura calls out, halfway through the door, and Carmilla curses herself when she realizes that she slipped into her daydreams and completely ignored her.

(Again.)

“Wait!”

Laura turns around, her eyes slightly wide, “Yes?”

“Are you hungry?” Carmilla asks, because she's confused as fuck so she might as well do something to figure out what the hell is going on between the two of them.

(Not that there’s actually anything going on.)

(They just met, like, a week ago.)

“I’m _starving_ ,” Laura confesses, a timid smile on her lips, “You have no idea how hungry I get after I play. It just drains me out, really.”

Carmilla tries really hard not to think of all the ways that statement can be taken - none of which are anything remotely innocent, really - but she just fails terribly and is left with (very pleasant) images that she's sure won't disappear from her mind anytime soon.

(She's so fucked.)

"What are you in the mood for?" she asks, and she wants to hit herself because that's just about the worst thing that could come out of her mouth in her current situation.

Laura, however, doesn't seem to notice her current struggle because she only shrugs, "If it's edible, I'll eat it."

It’s physically painful for Carmilla to keep her remarks to herself.

"It's almost 10pm so I think all of the campus diners are closed, but we could order something?"

"That works for me," Laura nods. And then, "Do you wanna go back to my dorm? We can watch something while we wait for the food."

Carmilla shouldn't. She really, really shouldn't.

"Sure thing, Cupcake."

(She's already going to hell, anyway. Might as well embrace it.)

//

They settle on Chinese because Laura is craving it and Carmilla - not surprisingly - doesn't really have an opinion on what they choose, as long as it tastes good and fills her empty stomach.

She's never been too picky, anyway.

Walking into Laura's room is somewhat of an out of body experience of Carmilla.

There are a couple things she notice first; one, Laura is apparently a neat freak because - excluding the open box of cookies sitting next to a weird police-box-shaped mug - everything else is set in place and even her bed is made, a yellow pillow sitting proudly on top of it.

(Carmilla immediately wants to know if it is as fluffy and comfortable as it looks.)

There are pictures everywhere; on the walls, the bedside table and the computer desk. The images in them range from Laura on her own to group pictures, though there are a couple of Laura and Danny and quite a lot of Laura and Kirsch, which makes Carmilla frown, for some reason.

But that's not what _really_ catches Carmilla's attention. No, the object responsible for that is sitting on Laura's bed, small and incredibly fitting for Laura's personality, just like she'd thought it’d be, back when Laura showed up to try out for their drummer position.

It's also _really_ pink.

"You play?" she asks, pointing to the ukulele. It's a dumb question because it's pretty obvious Laura plays, but that seemed like the least rude way to go about it.

Not that Carmilla usually cares if she’s being rude or not.

(If anything, she makes a point to be rude to people as often as possible.)

Laura doesn’t seem to mind the question, though, because her lips split in a grin and she picks up the small instrument, bringing it closer to her body and pulling on a few strings.

"It's the first instrument I've ever learned to play."

There's a shadow of something in her look that Carmilla can't quite place it, but before she has a chance to dwell on it, there's a knock on the door and Laura moves to open it, exchanging a few words with the delivery guy before she hands him some money and closes the door.

"Hey, I could've gotten that," Carmilla protests. "I was the one who asked if you were hungry."

"You can get the next one," Laura smiles, pulling out a container from the bag and handing it to Carmilla.

She then takes her own food and moves to her bed, turning on the tv that sits on the opposite wall and patting the space next to her.

"Come on, Karnstein. I don't bite."

There’s no doubt in Carmilla’s mind that Laura won’t, but she’s scared that she _might_ because she has a thing with biting and sharing a bed with pretty girls - even if in an entirely platonic way - is perhaps Carmilla’s greatest weakness, though she’s not particularly proud to admit that.

Still, what’s the worst that can happen, right? She hangs out with LaFontaine on a regular basis - but, well, they have a girlfriend, so maybe that’s not the same. There’s Danny, though. And Carmilla is not a fan of the girl, but she can’t deny that Danny _is_ attractive. It’s not her cup of tea, but she’s positive that there’s someone in the world who likes to climb a beanstalk to get their kisses - the thrill of the challenge and all that.

(An image of Laura and Danny comes to her mind and she immediately pushes it away, because - _no_.)

“I don’t think you could do much damage even if you _did_ bite, Cupcake.”

She takes a sit then, because, whatever.

“I’m trying to decide if that’s insulting or not,” Laura remarks, right before she brings a mouthful of lo mein to her lips. She swallows and shrugs, “Since I’m not particularly violent, I’m gonna pretend that it isn’t.”

Carmilla throws her a smirk, taking a bite of her own food, “Whatever suits you best, I guess.”

Laura grabs the remote and fiddles with the settings, pulling up her DVR and hitting play on some show that Carmilla is not familiar with.

She settles happily against the wall and Carmilla allows herself to do the same, relaxing next to Laura as they quietly eat their food.

“Is that a _screwdriver?_ ” she breaks the silence after a couple of confusing scenes of what she thinks is a time-travelling show, albeit a very weird one.

Not that time-travelling isn’t, you know, _weird_.

(She can now successfully place the police-box-shaped mug on Laura’s desk, but about a hundred more questions came with that particular discovery.) 

“It is!” Laura nods, “It’s a _sonic_ screwdriver, which is basically a multifunctional tool and The Doctor usually uses it to open doors but it does a lot of other things as well.”

Carmilla hums, “So I see.”

Laura pauses the episode and turns to her, “Is it- are you bored?”

“No more than usual, no.”

She wants to say that she’s actually pretty okay with what’s going on, but that means fighting years of self-instilled apathy and sometimes things just escape her lips before her brain catches up and by then it’s too late to take it back and she’s already screwed up things beyond repair.

“We can do something else, if you want,” Laura says, closing her empty food container and throwing it in the trash can next to her bed. She settles back next to Carmilla - closer than she’d been before - and bites on her lip, throwing not-so-sneaky glances her way.

Carmilla lets out a heavy sigh, “Spit it out before you choke on it.”

Laura doesn't beat around the bush, “What’s your problem with Danny?”

It’s not the question Carmilla expects, but it isn’t one that requires much thought on her part either, “Besides the fact that it hurts my neck to look at her? None, I guess. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Laura shrugs. “I guess I just don’t understand how you can spend so much time with someone you seem to actively hate.”

She finishes her fried rice and leans over Laura to throw the container away, “We have a common interest, so I guess that’s enough for us.”

“But wouldn’t that be a reason to, you know, actually be friends?”

Carmilla runs a hand through her hair, blows out a breath and looks at Laura, “I think you’ll soon find out that I’m not particularly good at making friends, Creampuff.”

"You seem to be doing fine with me," Laura remarks and, well, isn't that the point?

"Is that what we're doing?" she questions, because she can't see why anyone would even bother to begin with, "Being friends?"

Laura rolls her eyes, "I guess it'd be easier if you didn't put so much of a fight."

"Have you ever stopped to think," Carmilla starts, absentmindedly picking on the loose threads of her ripped jeans, "that maybe I'm not putting a fight and that this is just who I am?"

She's not surprised when Laura doesn't buy it.

"I don't believe for a second that you're completely made of aloofness and sarcasm, Carmilla Karnstein."

Carmilla twists her lips and it's not quite a smirk, but also not a smile, "Perhaps I can surprise you yet."

From her side on the bed, Laura gives her a look that Carmilla can't quite figure out, and when the words come out of her lips they're so soft she barely hears them, "Perhaps you can."

//

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Laura asks, deciding to break the silence they've settled on after that weird and confusing moment they shared.

She wants to know what it means, wants to know what it is about Carmilla that just sparks her interest in a way that no one else ever did, but she's slowly learning that pushing and pulling is never the way to get her to do _anything._

It's the exact opposite, really.

(If anything, she thinks Carmilla gets off on being stubborn just for the sake of it.)

The brunette spares her a glance, "Sharing a nice dinner of pizza leftovers with Camus."

"Oh. And Camus is...?"

Carmilla seem amused, "A dead writer and philosopher from France."

"Oh!" she nods, feeling her cheeks growing hot.

Nice one, Hollis.

"What about you, Cupcake? I didn't take you for someone who chose to spend the big holidays away from your family."

Laura wants to ask what makes Carmilla think that, but, really, it's not important. They may be sharing this moment right now, but their friendship - if it can even be called that - still consists of first impressions and, what Laura is sure, a fair amount of preconceived notions stemmed from college stereotypes and mindless gossip.

It doesn't worry her, though. 

They have time to change that.

"Actually," she sighs, because Carmilla _is_ right - this time, at least - and she would be spending Thanksgiving back in Seattle, if things hadn't gone awry, "my father is away on a business trip, so I didn't go home this year."

"And that makes you upset."

It's not a question, but Carmilla sounds unsure in a way that Laura has never heard her sound before, so she nods her head, silently confirming that yes - silly as it may be - she _is_ upset that she doesn't get to bake pies with her Dad, stuff the turkey and pray that it doesn't explode in their faces when they deep-fry it.

An idea flashes in her mind then, and Laura wonders if it's as crazy as she seems to think it is and if she should even be considering it anyway.

What does she have to lose, really?

"Hey," she pokes Carmilla on the patch of skin that's visible from the hole in her jeans, "Do you want to maybe trade Camus for a living person instead?"

Like once before, she thinks she sees Carmilla's eyes widen slightly before she drops her mask of boredom back again, "What do you mean?"

Laura powers through, because now it's too late to go back, "You, me and maybe something that's not on the verge of expiring? Let's call it a bonding experience. I'm friends with LaFontaine and Danny but I don't really know you. You know, it could be good for the band."

Carmilla glances away from her, staring at a fixed point on the opposite wall before she turns back, left eyebrow arched in a way that Laura is convinced is not humanly possible, "Bonding experience, huh?"

Laura nods eagerly.

"Alright, Creampuff. I suppose hanging out with dead people is weird anyway.”

Laura wants to let out a squeal, but she rips a page from Carmilla's book and only nods.

(And she grins. Widely. Because apathy be damned, she's allowed to celebrate small accomplishments.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs in this chapter are:**
> 
>   * _Suck It and See_ by Arctic Monkeys
>   * _Don't Go Breaking My Heart_ by Elton John  & Kiki Dee
>   * _Flickers_ by London Grammar
>   * _Everything Has Changed_ by Taylor Swift  & Ed Sheeran
>   * _The Phoenix_ by Fall Out Boy
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://antisocialgod.tumblr.com/), and also check [carmilla band au](https://www.tumblr.com/search/carmilla+band+au) for random comments, updates and the official fanmixes with the songs used in the fic/relevant to the story. Updates will come every friday, most likely at night.



	3. we're so connected, but are we even friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's bonding and Thanksgiving.

***Insert Band Name Here***

**[Creampuff]**  
 _What about The Pastries? Because Carmilla calls everyone something food-related._

**[Darwin]**  
 _That sounds awful, L_

**[JGG]**  
 _yea_

**[JGG]**  
 _bsides i’m pretty sure the food nicknames r only 4 u_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _No, they aren’t._

**[JGG]**  
 _hmmm, they r tho_

**[Darwin]**  
 _Danny’s right, they totally are. we get things like ‘idiot’ or ‘jerkface’ or something equally as nice_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _But why?_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _Carmilla?????_

**[Darwin]**  
 _But anyway, I’m totally vetoing that name_

**[JGG]**  
 _me 2, sry laura_

**[Creampuff]**  
 _Sigh. Fine ):_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _Why the fuck are you three even awake right now?_

**[Carmilla K.]**  
 _I absolutely approve of the name._

**[Carmilla K.**  
 _Now let me sleep._

//

“Okay,” LaFontaine starts, eyeing the food spread on the kitchen island. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so why am I here?”

From their side, comes a soft sigh, "I have failed you so badly.” the woman turns around, directing her question to the other person in the room, ”Are you really planning on marrying this person someday?"

"Oh," Perry laughs, and LaFontaine lets themselves bask in her beauty for a moment, wondering - not for the first time - how they managed to get so lucky, "I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter now."

They roll their eyes and throw a cherry their girlfriend's way, only to have a hand smack their arm as the fruit misses Perry by a good foot and lands on top of the vegetables she's dutifully cropping.

"Don't be rude to your girlfriend, I taught you better than that."

From her seat, Perry grins and their lips curl up to match hers, "Sorry, mom."

Their mother huffs and moves to press a kiss to the top of Perry's head, and LaFontaine leans back against the counter, observing the careful and yet precise way that Perry works.

They should probably be helping _somehow_ , but they're awful at cooking to begin with and picking up a knife when they're so prone to drop everything on themselves is probably not the best idea, especially when this might mean ruining a delicious Thanksgiving feast.

"What is going on in here?" a fourth voice asks, entering the kitchen and dropping more food on the kitchen island.

(LaFontaine absolutely _loves_ Thanksgiving.)

"Not much," they shrug. "Just my mother and your daughter ganging up on me, as usual."

There's a mock gasp, "No!"

"Don't tell me you're switching sides too, Andrea. I don't think my heart can't handle that much betrayal in one day."

Perry's mother lets out a laugh; it’s shorter and huskier than her daughter's, but still just as lovely, "You know I would never, darling."

They meet their girlfriend’s gaze and their heart skips a beat at the look of pure happiness on Perry’s face. It’s moment like these - so full of playful remarks, exaggerated eye-rolls and, well, _love_ \- that makes them realize how lucky they are to have a support network so strong that they don’t have to be afraid to close their eyes and take huge leaps of faith because they know someone will always be there to catch them.

(Not that there weren’t moments that they weren’t scared _as fuck_ but, you know, details.)

“How are things at _Spooky Silas_?” their mother asks, using the name their university is called by Styrian townspeople. “You still got that band thing going on?”

They nod, “Yeah, we actually got a new member. Laura, you remember?”

“The one who got in that mess with The Dean?” Andrea’s voice rings from the pantry.

“Yup,” LaFontaine laughs, hopping on the counter and swinging their legs back and forth, ignoring the pointed glances from Perry and their mother. “She’s crazy good.”

“They actually have a, uhm, concert lined up,” their girlfriend supplies as she gets up and moves to the sink to wash her hands. When she’s done, she grabs a few cookies from where they’re cooling off on top of the stove and settles between LaFontaine’s legs, taking a bite and offering one to her partner.

“Is that so?” LaFontaine’s mother asks. They nod and her lips split in a grin, “Honey, that’s amazing.”

Perry places another piece of cookie in their mouth, quickly followed by a peck of her lips. 

“I told them that, but LaFontaine insists on playing it cool.”

Andrea rolls her eyes, “I thought you didn’t apologize for the hardcore?”

“It’s not about apologies,” they explain, letting their chin fall against Perry’s shoulder. They bite their lip for a moment, wondering if they should even say anything at all. In the end, they figure if they can’t trust the people in this room then they can’t trust anyone else, so why keep things to themselves? “I don’t want to jinx it, you know? We’ve been getting ready for this for a while, but what if something happens and everything just falls apart?”

Perry glances at them, eyebrows furrowed, and they know she wants to say something - and probably wants to ask why they never mentioned this to her - but LaFontaine’s mother beats her to it.

“Out of all the things to be scared in your life,” she says and they see a flash of sadness in her eyes, reminiscent of older - _harder_ \- times, “that’s what actually gets to you? Honey, if they can’t see how amazingly talented you are, and I’m sure your friends as well, then they’re the ones who will be missing out on something great.”

“Cecile is right,” Andrea nods, eyeing the turkey in front of her with an intense look of concentration. “I think you’ve been through enough in your life to know which battles to pick and I’ve never seen you lose any of them once you decide to fight. This shouldn’t be any different.”

Perry squeezes their hand and LaFontaine grins at the three woman in front of them - each of them so loving and supporting in their own particular way.

“Got us a battle, leave it up to me, right?”

Their girlfriend - the only one who seems to understand the reference - swats their arm, “Oh, you dork.”

//

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _Can you bring some wine tonight?_

**[Carmilla]**  
 _Who is this?_

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _Carmilla!!!!_

**[Carmilla]**  
 _Funny, I didn’t think that was a particularly common name._

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _Stop being mean ):_

**[Carmilla]**  
 _Do you go around insulting strangers?_

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _Carmilla ): ): )’:_

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _Stop ):_

**[Carmilla]**  
 _Sorry, Cutie, I couldn’t resist._

**[Carmilla]**  
 _Red or white?_

**[Laura Hollis]**  
 _You pick! See you later!! :) :) :) :*_

//

There are nearly sixteen tabs opened in her browser by the time she’s finally convinced she found something that’s slightly appropriate for Thanksgiving. And by that, she means easy to make and not very time consuming. And, of course, something that she thinks Carmilla will be willing to eat.

(Carmilla basically lives on take out, Laura doesn’t know how she’ll react to actual, homemade food.)

She’s writing down the things she’ll need to order from the grocery store when her phone rings, her father’s contact name flashing on the blue screen of her phone.

 _“Hey, pumpkin,”_ his voice echoes from the receiver, scratchy and somewhat distant, which only serves to remind her that her phone probably won’t make it until christmas. 

”Hi Daddy!”

_”How is my favorite girl doing on her first Thanksgiving alone?”_

Laura can hear the way his voice gets less cheerful as he talks and she knows he doesn’t like being away from her on this day anymore than he likes the idea of her getting into a bear cave all by herself, but she doesn’t let it get to her because circumstances weren’t ideal and they have to deal with things as best as they can.

“I’m good,” she replies noncommittally; she’s actually really excited about her Thanksgiving with Carmilla but she doesn’t want to upset her father. “And I actually won’t be by myself, so you can worry a little less?”

That probably has the opposite effect of what Laura intended because her father goes quiet for a moment and when he asks her a question, his voice is more strained than it had been a moment before.

_"You won't?"_

"I won't," Laura confirms. "Carmilla and I will have dinner and then hang out or something."

 _"Oh,"_ her father sounds relieved. _"Camilla is the girl from your band, right?"_

She smiles to herself, "Carmilla, Daddy."

_"Potato, pohtato, pumpkin."_

"But yes, that's her," she moves on, figuring her dad will get Carmilla's name right eventually.

(He should have by now, it's not as if Laura hasn't mentioned her enough.)

_"How is that going, by the way? Are you doing that gig?"_

She finishes her grocery list and settles it aside, leaning back on her chair as she lets her gaze move to the glowing stars that adorn the ceiling of her room.

(Her father's idea, of course.)

"That's going well, actually," she informs him, smiling at the fact that he's managed to pick that up from her usual daily rambling. "Danny wasn't too fond of it at first, but she came around pretty quick. Which is kinda weird, now that I think about it, but anyway."

 _"Well, huh,"_ he says and Laura recognizes it as his way to agree with her. _"That's good though, isn't it?"_

"Oh, yeah! It's really good. I'm so excited!"

Her father's laugh echoes through the phone - rich and deep - and Laura finds herself surrounded by the familiar warmth that stems from the sound.

 _"I'm happy for you, pumpkin,"_ he says and Laura knows that he means it. _"Do you need me to send you anything? Is your day-of-the-week bear spray still within the expiration date?"_

She's actually not sure, but she doesn't tell him that.

"Yeah, it's good. I think I can survive until winter break."

There's a moment of silence where Laura is convinced her father is nodding to himself, rather than actually talking to her.

 _"Okay,"_ he rushes out, once he seems to realize that Laura can't see his movements, _"Let me know if you need anything, okay?"_

She smiles, "Will do, Daddy."

_"Happy Thanksgiving, Pumpkin. Love you."_

"I love you too, happy Thanksgiving! And please control the carbs, you know they're no good for you."

Her Dad scoffs, _"I will make no promises, daughter of mine."_

(Of course he won't.)

"Bye, Daddy." 

_"Bye, baby girl."_

She ends the call with a click and sighs as the screen of her phone just goes completely dark, no response coming from the small device as she presses on a combination of random buttons, trying to get it to turn on again.

"You little piece of crap," she growls, letting it fall against her desk with a heavy thud.

She picks up the grocery list and looks at it for a second, before realizing she'll have to go find another phone to place the delivery call.

In the back of her mind, there's a little voice telling her she should probably start convincing her father that she has no interest in sending high resolution selfies to anyone, she just _really_ needs a phone that actually works.

But that can wait. She has more important business to attend.

//

If there's one thing to be said about the Summer Society house is that it is _never_ , under any circumstance, a quiet place to live.

Danny thinks that, with over 40 girls living under the same roof, that's pretty much a given.

And it's not even because they're loud or anything, because they're not. Not anymore than it’s usual for a considerable amount of girls toegether, anyway. But 99% of the time there's something going on at the house, or someone on the ground floor needs something from someone who's in one of the rooms on the first floor and - well, it just happens, really.

Thanksgiving, however, it's not loud.

It's fucking _loud_.

There are girls running up and down, inside and out and just, well, everywhere. The food ingredients are scattered around the kitchen and dining room - Danny can swear she saw vegetables on the living room couch - and there are at least four girls trying to cook different things on the same stove and she is honestly just hoping they won't burn the house down anytime soon.

(They almost did once. The memory is enough to make her shudder.)

She's standing in the doorway that connects the kitchen to the dining room, wondering how she can help her sisters and where she should even start, when her name is called, making her head snap towards the pantry where one of the girls is neck deep in food packages.

"You think you can give me a hand?" Alicia, the Outdoor Rec President says as one bag of rice slips from the pile on her arms and tumbles to the floor.

By some miracle, Danny is sure, it doesn't split.

(The last thing they need is anymore of a mess right now.)

She quickly moves to Alicia's side, "Yeah, sure."

Once her sister is free of half her load, she carries it to the kitchen island and drops it unceremoniously and Danny doesn't think twice before doing the same.

"Do you need any help with this?"

"Not right now," Alicia shakes her head just as the door rings. "But if you could get that, you'd be a life saver."

"Sure thing, Al."

It's a bit of a struggle to navigate through all the girls that just seem to be popping up in front of her, but after a few bumps and only a chair knocked out of the way, Danny finally makes to the door, opening it and then immediately closing it again.

What the fuck?

"Danny," he says, pounding on the door. "Come on, open up."

"What are you doing here?" she growls, walking outside and closing the door behind her. "If any of my sisters sees you here, we're both screwed."

That doesn't seem to faze him, "I need your help."

She laughs. Sometimes she thinks he can't get any dumber but he always seems intent on surprising her.

He rolls his eyes, "I'm serious."

"What makes you think I'd ever agree to help you with anything?"

And honestly, she can't fathom why he would, really. Is not as if she's ever given any indication that she tolerates him, let alone likes him enough to help in any way.

"Because Laura is busy with her date with Carmilla or something and you're the only other chick I kinda know, so."

"Laura is-" she pauses, her brain catching up with his words. "How much of a sexist moron can you honestly be?"

He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy sigh before he grabs her arm and pulls her away from the door.

"Hey!" she snarls, pulling her arm free. "Rule number one: do not think you can manhandle me."

"Dude, sorry."

She narrows her eyes at him, "What do you want?"

He tilts his head to the side and widens his eyes at her, which makes Danny want to punch him in the face because - fuck - not fair.

"We need help with our turkey."

_"We?"_

"The Zetas."

She can't help it, she laughs again.

"You’re really out of your fucking mind, aren’t you?"

To be completely honest, he didn't actually think she'd agree. At all. But desperate a times, desperate measurements, right?

(Or something along those lines.)

He sighs and Danny can swear he is pouting at her, "Danny, come on."

"No."

_"Dude."_

She crosses her arms, "I'm not a dude."

He throws his hand up, turning on his heel and taking a few steps away from her before he stops. Danny watches as his head falls and his fist clench for a moment before he nods to himself and walks back to her.

"If you don't know how to do it, you can just say so."

Danny scoffs, "I know how to stuff a damn turkey."

"I don't think you do, actually," he says, and she wants to punch him in the face for sounding so smug.

"I don't need to prove anything to you, beefcake."

He smirks, "That's what everyone says when they can't admit they don't know how to do something."

"You know what?" Danny snaps, her cheeks flushing and her jaw setting, "I'll stuff your damn turkey and I'll make you eat your stupid words."

"Nah," he shakes his head, "I'll find someone else. Don't worry about it."

She shoves his left shoulder - the one she knows is not the one he needs to throw a ball - and points at his face.

"It's gonna be the best fucking turkey you'll ever eat in your life."

Kirsch rolls his eyes, "Well, I totally doubt that, really."

"Shut up. Let's go."

He grins, then. That annoying, self satisfied grin that makes her skin crawl and he does a stupid bowing motion, swinging his hand as a gesture for her to lead the way.

"Ladies first, Summer Psycho."

And it's only when she finds herself at the door of the Zeta Omega Mu house that Danny realizes he played her like a fucking fiddle and she didn't even notice until it was too late.

(Fuck.)

//

"Do you think we'll be ready to play at the Zeta party?" LaFontaine asks, breaking the silence that has settled in Perry's room for the past twenty minutes.

Perry shifts, disentangling her legs from them and looking up from the movie playing on the screen.

(It's more of a documentary than a movie, but details.)

Her partner is leaning against the headboard and, though she can see the small crease on their forehead, they're missing the other signs that's usually let Perry know they're worried.

(Snapping their fingers and drumming them against their leg without any semblance of a rhythm.)

She shakes her head, pulling LaFontaine closer, "I don't think you have to worry at all."

They let themselves be pulled, sliding until they're flat against her bed and Perry feels the tip of their fingers against her head, soothing her in a way that only LaFontaine seems capable of doing.

"Are you just saying that or do you actually mean it?" they chuckle and Perry rolls her eyes.

"When have I _ever_ said anything without meaning it, LaFontaine?"

She doesn't mean it to be reaproachful, but LaFontaine still lets their eyes down, going quiet in a way that is not very usual for them. Perry loves them to death - she absolutely does - but they're not exactly a quiet person in any way.

(None. _At all._ She would know.)

Her statement brings back times she doesn't wish to relive at all; times when she'd been too scared to accept that she couldn't control everything in her world, times when she didn't know that changes could actually be a _good_ thing.

There has been a lot of changes since then. She can't bring herself to regret any of them.

"Sorry," LaFontaine apologizes and she shakes her head, bringing their face closer to hers and pressing their lips in a sweet kiss.

"You have no reason to apologize, love."

They shrug - or try to, it's weird in their current position.

"I know you wouldn't just say that, I just," she watches as LaFontaine presses their face to the crook of her neck, brushing their lips against her skin, "I don't want to screw this up, you know? It's not even a huge deal, really."

Their voice is muffled and Perry has to strain to make sense of their words, but when she does, she lets her hand slip under their shirt and brings it up, fingers grazing the underside of their binder.

"But it _is_ a huge deal," she reassures them. "I know how much you've worked for this. Don't make light of your accomplishments, baby."

LaFontaine pulls back, grinning down at her, "What would I do without your smart mouth, huh?"

She lets out a playful huff, "Quote a far less quantity of cheesy songs, that's for sure."

They don't say anything, instead they only gaze down at her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear before they lean down to kiss her.

Kissing is not new. It has become an official thing for almost two years but they've been kissing for as long as Perry can remember. There's been kisses at the playground, in the tree house on LaFontaine's backyard, in the closet of Kirsch's house, the school's parking lot - just everywhere, really.

They've been kissing since they were two young and impressionable girls and they continued to kiss through self-discoveries and acceptance, struggles and fights.

(Perry doesn't like to think of how there's ever been a time when they've kissed out of frustration rather than love.)

"Hey," LaFontaine snaps her out of her thoughts, seemingly aware of the place where her thoughts were slipping into, "Did you know Laura and Carmilla are spending Thanksgiving together?"

Apparently their plan works because her attention is instantly shifted, "Excuse me? I could swear you just said that Carmilla is willingly spending time in the company of another person."

It's a bullshit remark and they both know it. Carmilla, surprisingly enough, actually spends a lot of her time around them for someone who seems so adamant in keeping her space and her loneliness.

But no one comments on it; they can pretend she's all cool and detached if it means that much to her.

"Apparently,” LaFontaine starts, pressing a kiss to her neck, "Laura has her wrapped around her finger. You should see it during rehearsals, Carmilla even brings an extra bottle of water for her now."

That actually _is_ surprising; one time Danny almost collapsed with dehydration because Carmilla wouldn't share her bottle of water and wouldn't let her walk out of rehearsal to drink something.

(LaFontaine says Danny was actually _fine_ , but Perry cannot fathom how someone goes three hours without water and still manages to be anything remotely close to okay.)

(She spent a month denying to serve Carmilla any coffee after that incident.)

"Do you think she likes her?" Perry asks, because she can't imagine Carmilla actually /liking/ anyone.

LaFontaine shrugs, moving on top of her and pressing a kiss to the underside of her ear, "Nah, they don't really know each other that much. But I think she might be heading that way as fast as a derailed train."

Perry tries to ignore the goosebumps that run over her body, attempting to push LaFontaine slightly, though they're having none of it.

"How is that gonna work with Danny?"

LaFontaine pulls back, giving her a blank look, "Perr. I don't want to have this conversation anymore."

Their hands have slipped under her shirt and one of their legs has slipped between hers and Perry _knows_ what they want, but there are just about five people downstairs and another ten due to arrive anytime soon and, logically, she knows they _shouldn't_.

That's why she pulls LaFontaine closer, gripping the back of their head and bringing their lips together.

"You have twenty minutes. Make it count."

Their lips split in a devilish grin, "Deal."

//

When Carmilla arrives to Laura's room she's holding two bottles in her hands and knocking on the door is physically impossible lest she grows another limb or puts the bottles down - which means more effort than she's willing to make at that particular moment.

She thinks for a second and then shifts her grip in one of the bottles before knocking it against the door.

(It doesn't break and she considers it a success.)

There's shuffling inside and Carmilla thinks she can hear the sound of something thumping against what is probably wood and then some mild cursing before Laura opens the door with a grin.

"Hey! You made it!"

Carmilla tilts her head to the side, "Did I not say I would?"

"You did," Laura confesses and she shifts from one feet to the other, "But I might have thought you were only saying that to make me stop annoying you."

She did.

"I did," Carmilla confirms, and it's weird to find that there's little satisfaction in the way Laura's face falls at her words. "But I also don't say things I don't mean, Cutie. That's probably the first thing you should know about me."

"I'm confused," Laura says and Carmilla wants to tell her that she's well aware of that because her eyebrows are bunched up in that way that is just incredibly alluring for some reason - but she doesn't. "You don't have to do this if you don't want."

Carmilla rolls her eyes. They've known each other for a couple of weeks and she can already tell what the motto of their friendship is.

(Are they even friends?)

(It's somewhat ironic that Carmilla lives on grey areas, when she positively hates them.)

"I want to be here," she reassures Laura. It's one thing she has no time to be doing when it comes to everybody else, but Laura seems to effortlessly pull it out of her. "And that surprises me enough for the both of us, so let's not talk about it."

Laura's hands move to her waist and Carmilla rolls her eyes because of course the girl is gonna fight her on that. She hasn't even made it inside yet.

"What if I want to talk about it?" Laura asks and the way she's all stubbornness and indignation is cuter than it should be, to be honest.

"Why would you want that?" she lifts the hand that's holding a champagne bottle and holds it between her thumb and index finger, running the rest her fingers against her hair.

"Because I want to understand-" she pauses and Carmilla notices that her gaze is fixed on her hand. "Is that _champagne_?"

"Uh, yes?"

"We don't drink champagne on Thanksgiving, Carmilla."

She rolls her eyes because, well, that's _dumb_. "A holiday where you can't drink champagne is a stupid holiday."

Laura's lips open and close in what Carmilla thinks bears an uncanny resemblance to a fish and then she just lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping as she moves to let Carmilla inside the room.

(Finally.)

"I'm not even gonna try to understand that."

Carmilla is too busy looking at the set up in Laura's room to even pay attention to what she's saying. 

(She seems to do that a lot around her.)

It seems that she somehow managed to get hold of a small table and there's food on top of it. There's no turkey, from what she can gather, but it seems that Laura has brought a little of everything that's related to Thanksgiving in practical servings and small dishes.

It blows Carmilla away a little.

"I want to be here," she blurts out, rolling her eyes at herself, because, _really_?

Laura seems as surprised by her random statement as she is, but she manages to get a hold of herself fairly quick, which Carmilla finds it impressive, considering Laura is usually a mess of rambling and stumbled words.

"Thank you for clarifying that."

She nods, "You're welcome."

It seems that was the right thing to say. The grin finds its way back to Laura's face and it's so contagious that Carmilla can feel her own lips twisting at the sight of it.

"Come on," Laura says, taking one bottle from her hand and pulling her further into the room. "Let's eat. I'm starving and I worked hard on this."

Carmilla lets herself be pulled - she finds she can't fight Laura's whims a lot, but she doesn't let herself dwell in the meaning of that.

"You could have asked for my help."

Laura raises an eyebrow at her, "Would you have helped? Can you even _cook_?"

"No," she concedes. "And no. But I hardly see how that's relevant."

She watches as Laura pours two glasses of wine for them, handing her one before she settles on the floor opposite from Carmilla.

"Of course you don't," she rolls her eyes. "But, well, I'll make sure to remember your willingness to help next time, okay?"

She's _never_ willing to help, in all honesty, but if cooking with Laura is anything like playing with Laura then she thinks she wouldn't mind it a lot.

The thought makes her lips twist in a smile and she gives the other girl a small nod, "I appreciate that, Cupcake."

Laura starts serving them and Carmilla tells her that she’s not eating all that food because she might be the tallest one of them but that doesn’t mean she has much more room in her stomach for the small mountain that Laura seems to have made on her plate.

It’s a lie; her stomach is pretty similar to a bottomless pit and she’ll probably even have seconds, but sometimes small habits - such as politely declining anything more than a small serving of food - are so heavily ingrained in her that she doesn’t even realize she’s falling into them until it’s too late and she’s back in her room resorting to pizza takeouts and whatever else she can find in her small - and terribly unkept - mini-fridge.

Laura argues that they’re the only ones eating all of that food and she’ll be damned if she lets it go to waste, so she just ignores the small voice in the back of her head saying she's being impolite and that she was taught better than that and starts eating it.

Even if their little mountains of food, she’s convinced they’ll have leftovers for a _month_.

(Not that she minds. The food is _really_ good.)

"So," Laura says when she's made a considerable dent on her food and is pouring her second glass of wine, "tell me something about yourself."

Carmilla sighs, "Must I really?"

Laura gives her a decisive nod and Carmilla knows she's not escaping this, much as she wants to bolt for the door.

Apparently Laura really meant it when she said they'd be bonding.

"Well," she pushes her food around her plate for a moment, trying to think of something that's easy enough to spill out but also something that will quell Laura's thirst. 

Except she can't find a single fact about herself that's remotely interesting or worth sharing.

"What would you like to know, cutie?"

Laura shakes her head, "That's not how this works."

Of course it isn't. Is anything ever easy in Carmilla's life?

"Why don't you tell me something about yourself, then?"

She thinks she's being a smartass. She thinks Laura is gonna go quiet for a moment and then just give up when she finds nothing she wants to say.

Once again, Laura proves her wrong.

It's then that Carmilla finds out Laura can _talk_. Yes, they've been spending a lot of time together and Laura has never been shy about using her words, but what happens when she asks that question is a whole other level.

Laura studies journalism at Silas. She's a sophomore and she loves her major, though some of the teachers frustrate her immensely. She watches a lot of tv show and eats a lot of processed food because she's too tired to cook proper food for herself when she's pulling 18-hour work days.

Carmilla also finds out that Laura is intensely fierce about people's rights and a self proclaimed feminist, who has no qualms about speaking her mind on subjects that most people would only tiptoe around.

She likes cookies - actually _loves_ them, really - but she's obsessed with brownies and she's on a search to find the world's best brownie, which basically means that she'll go anywhere that sells the baked goods and she'll buy them and taste and classify them according to her standards.

It's cute how she's so obsessed with that task.

"What is your favorite one so far?" Carmilla asks, once she's cleaned up her plate.

Laura pours the rest of the wine in their glasses and leans back, "I actually haven't found it. I don't know, there's always something missing, you know?"

Carmilla actually does, but she wouldn't be talking about brownies.

She only nods.

"But I'll find it one day."

They fall silent again as they finish their wine and Carmilla can't help but be amused that someone who likes talking as much as Laura does can also make the silence feel so comfortable.

She's never shared that feeling with anyone before.

(It's a lie. She _has_. But she doesn't want to think about what that means.)

"I am scared shitless of small spaces."

It feels weird to let that out. First it seems random and Carmilla wonders what is happening with her lately, but she instantly feels the weight over her shoulders lifting a little and she finds it's surprisingly easy to deal with the knowledge that Laura now knows something about her that she considers a fairly deep feeling.

"I'm glad you told me that," Laura tells her, reaching out and wrapping her hand around Carmilla's forearm, her finger subtly grazing the fair skin under them. "I wouldn't want to drag you somewhere and accidentally trigger you."

She raises an eyebrow, "Unless you're planning on dragging me to a closet or something, I'm fairly sure we're safe."

When Laura flushes and starts coughing, Carmilla only grins.

Karnstein 1. Hollis 0.

"I-I'm not- that's not what I-" she sighs, dropping her head against the table. When she notices that Carmilla is actually teasing her, she flicks a piece of food at her. "You're a jerk."

She tilts her head, "See? Now you know _two_ things about me."

"I already knew that, so it doesn't really count."

"Sure it does."

Laura gets up and Carmilla lets her eyes follow her movements, ignoring the way she seems to focus slightly more than it would be appropriate on Laura's backside when she leans down to grab the bottle of champagne from her mini fridge.

Once she retrieves it, Carmilla expects her to go back to her previous seat, but Laura simply drops down next to her - their thighs pressing against each other in a way that's more comfortable than she thought it'd be, considering she hates when people invade her personal space.

(Though she's now convinced Laura has no idea what that even is.)

"Open it," Laura says, pushing the bottle at her.

"Ah, bossy, gotcha." she hums but takes the bottle anyway, twisting it a little before popping it open. "There you go."

Laura pours their drinks and sets the bottle aside, taking a sip before she turns to look at her. Carmilla tries to make sense of the look she's being given but, as per normal where Laura is concerned, she comes back empty.

"So, the band," Laura starts, looking away from her. "How did that happen?"

She gives her a small smile. It's clear what she's doing, and Carmilla appreciates it more than she can let it on.

"Perry is my Floor Don, right? One day I'm in my room playing my guitar and she comes around saying that I have to knock it off because people want to sleep-" Carmilla pauses. "Well, maybe she didn't use these exact words."

Laura raises an eyebrow, "Maybe?"

"She didn't," Carmilla rolls her eyes. "But all the same, Cupcake."

"Sorry," Laura chuckles, her nose wrinkling in that distracting way. "Keep going."

"After she's gone, I get someone knocking on my door," she lets out a heavy sigh - dramatics and all that. "And it's LaFontaine. You have no idea how _annoying_ that kid can be when they want something."

"So they convinced you to just start playing with them?"

" _Convinced_?" she scoffs. "They stalked me for a month, cutie. I was ready to sic the campus police on them, if I thought those brainless idiots would actually be of any help."

Laura takes a sip of her champagne, "What made you change your mind?"

"Will did, actually," her lips curl up at the memory. "He pointed out a few pros of having a band. I took up on LaFontaine's offer the next day."

(Pros: pissing off Mother.)

"What about Danny?"

Carmilla actually snorts at that, "Unforeseen casualty. When I agreed to do it, LaFontaine had already convinced her as well. I wanted to drop the whole thing, but I'm nothing if not a woman of my word."

Laura pokes her side and Carmilla throws her a glare, which is about as ineffective as she expects all of her defenses to be against her.

"They're your friends."

She narrows her eyes, "Absolutely not."

"They are." Laura grins.

"You're delusional, Sundance."

She tries to fight it, she really does. She doesn't have friends. That's just not a thing for her. And she wants Laura to know that so that she won't have any expectations about this, though it's probably far too late into the game to change the rules now.

And she tries, anyway. 

But then Laura crumbles her walls with one sentence. 

Four words. 

Sixteen letters.

"You're my friend too."

Carmilla was stupid to think she ever stood a chance against her.

//

Kirsch feels bad. 

Actually, he feels completely shitty and he takes no pride in his actions, but honestly, what was a dude to do? They really needed help and Danny was the first person he thought to go to - which kinda scares him when he thinks about it, because the chick hates him and she’s still the first one that comes to his mind when he’s in trouble so what does that say about him, really?

It says that he’s an idiot. He’s not even gonna deny that anymore.

And he knew that she wouldn’t agree, just like he knew that telling her she couldn’t do something would totally make her do it because she just _hates_ when people doubt her skills and yeah, that’s crappy. It’s like a shot at her self-esteem or something. A really cheap shot, but he _really_ needed her help and maybe he’ll find a way to make it up to her eventually.

(She’ll never let him, but he’ll try anyway.)

Beside, contrary psychology is totally a thing, right? Maybe that’s not the exact name but he’s sure he learned about it when he took Psychology 101 back in high school and yeah, some people use it to actually brainwash others and make them do terrible shit but he totally didn’t mean it like that. He’s not even gaining anything from it. It’s like Danny is just helping a bro, even though she hates said bro and helping him it’s the last thing on her mind.

Honestly, he doesn’t even know anymore. Sometimes he just screws up and by the time he realizes how shitty his actions were the damage is already done.

But he’s, like, trying to be better. He really is.

“There,” she snaps, letting the knife she’s holding fall to the kitchen counter with a loud clank which makes him jump slightly because psychotic angry girl-bro with a _knife_ and, you know, it’s a big one. 

His fear is totally justified.

“I trust you idiots know how to deep fry it?”

Kirsch quickly nods his head. They can do that shit.

“Good,” she spits out the word and he’s confused because he thinks she doesn’t find it good at all. “Next time you need me just watch a video or something.”

His mind goes to a _lot_ of places with that sentence and things get kind of uncomfortable for a second before he realizes that she doesn’t mean it like _that_ and, well, he really is an idiot.

“I, uh, yeah, will do,” Kirsch shifts on his feet, tugging a little on his jeans before he looks up at her. “Do you, like, do you wanna stay?”

_”Excuse me?”_

He rushes to explain, “For dinner. I mean, you took care of the turkey and that’s, like, the most important thing on Thanksgiving so you totally should get to eat it.”

“Kirsch.”

She’s looking at him in that way that lets him know she thinks he is an idiot without the words actually coming out of her mouth.

“You’re an idiot.”

Oh, well.

“Besides,” she continues. “I know there’s a no-girl policy in your testosterone party and I wouldn’t want to intrude because, gross. Really gross.”

He huffs, crossing his arms against his chest, “I think my bros would agree that helping us gets you food.”

(They probably wouldn’t. Kirsch already had to fight them to even ask for Danny’s help.)

“I’m sure in your mind you think that’s some kind of reward,” she clicks her lips together, shaking her head. “But it really isn’t.”

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes.

If she doesn’t want to stay, all the same for him. He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t. 

(Maybe he just thinks she’d make an interesting company.)

“I’m gonna go now,” she tells him, pointing her thumb in the general direction of the door. “Please don’t ever ask for my help again.”

She starts walking out and he wants to say something but everything sounds dumb in his mind. It’s clear that Danny doesn’t want anything to do with him and he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so caught up in this whole thing because she’s just a chick and there are plenty around Silas. 

It’s like a 3 to 1 ratio, he’s sure. Or maybe 2 to 1, because he thinks maybe some of them aren’t really _human_ and he appreciates females but he doesn’t want to accidentally have sex with a praying mantis and have it slicing off his head after the deed or something.

(Laura really needs to stop making him watch Buffy. That stuff gets to him.)

He’s distracting himself again, and when Danny is almost gone, he calls out, “You could’ve just said no.”

Her shoulders tense and her fists clench, but she doesn’t turn around.

“Well, next time I will. Considering you can’t really bring yourself to even thank me.”

Shit.

“Fuck,” he lets out under his breath. 

When he looks up, she’s already out of the door.

(Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.)

//

***Insert Band Name Here***

**[OR VP SS Danny]**  
 _i chnged my mind, we r not playin @ the prty anymore_

//

“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Carmilla says from where they’re sitting side-to-side on the floor, backs against Laura’s bed, limbs pressed against each other.

“How can you say that?” Laura gasps - because, _no_. “It’s genius!”

Carmilla shifts to give her a look that she thinks it translates very well into incredulity and Laura is a bit upset because she actually _does_ think it’s very genius.

“Moisturize me?” her friend - are they-- yes, they _are_ \- deadpans. 

“Okay,” she agrees, lips jutting out. “Maybe that’s a bit weird and not very genius, but you have to agree that the entire concept is amazing.”

“Are you going to pout like that until I agree?”

She rolls her eyes; there’s no way she’s _pouting_.

“I’m not pouting.”

Laura watches as Carmilla’s eyes glint and her hand moves to flick her bottom lip, “Yes, you are.”

She doesn’t even know what’s going on, only that Carmilla’s finger is on her skin and everything is really soft and _distracting_ , not that things aren’t already distracting enough when Carmilla is around because, really, there should be some rule on this university about girls being so gorgeous they become a danger to people’s physical health.

(She finds it’s particularly hard to focus on her surroundings because - _Carmilla_.)

At that moment, she has a bit of a situation. She wants to talk - wants to say that Carmilla just needs to agree with her and she’ll stop not-pouting, but her lips are still tingling from where her fingers touched them - like small afterwaves of shock that start at her face and spread throughout her entire body, making her feel really, _really_ good.

What is going on with her?

“Oh no,” Carmilla’s eyes widen as she looks at Laura. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

She huffs, “I’m not crying.”

“Good,” she blows out a breath. “Because your face got really weird for a moment and I just - I don’t do crying.”

Laura smacks her arm.

“Ouch, Cupcake.”

“You’re such a charmer,” she rolls her eyes and then takes the hand that’s sitting between them and pulls it over her leg. Carmilla throws her a questioning look but she ignores it. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she likes touching Carmilla and she’s not one to deny herself simple pleasures like that.

After a moment, Carmilla smirks, “I am. You should ask the ladies, they’d agree.”

She ignores the weird feeling in her chest at the words.

“I’m sure they would.” She thinks if she should say the next words, but she’s never been really good at keeping things in, to be honest. “So, uh, ladies?”

Carmilla’s eyes fall to their joined hands before she looks back at Laura and, for the first time since they’ve formally met, she notices something like hesitance lurking behind dark and expressive brown eyes.

“Yeah,” Carmilla chews on her bottom lip. “All about the ladies, here.”

(There goes that weird feeling again.)

“Oh,” she grins. “Good.”

Carmilla smirks, “Good?”

“I-I mean,” Laura stammers, letting her head fall back against her bed with a groan. “You know what I meant.”

She’s starting to understand why Danny and LaFontaine call Carmilla an evil creature of hell, because she only lifts an eyebrow at her, the smirk on her lips growing impossibly more annoying.

“I don’t know, Cupcake, _do I_?”

Her cheeks are burning and she’s sure her face is impossibly red, so she keeps staring at the stars on her ceiling; there’s no way she’s giving Carmilla the satisfaction of watching her squirm.

“You _do_.”

Carmilla squeezes her hand, “Hey, look at me.”

Laura does.

(And she ignores the way her breath catches in her throat.)

“I was just teasing you.”

Of course she was. 

“You’re really a jerk, you know?”

That doesn’t seem to bother Carmilla - she probably knows Laura doesn’t really mean it.

“There are worst things to be,” the way she says it is nonchalant, but there’s a tinge to her words that makes Laura think they probably have a deeper meaning. Before she can further that thought, though, Carmilla squeezes her hand again, effectively pulling Laura’s gaze towards her. “We’re supposed to be thankful for things today, right? Well, Laura Hollis, I guess I’m thankful for you.”

(Maybe she’ll reconsider that whole not-crying thing.)

She takes a deep breath, “You can’t do things like that.”

“Sure I can.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.”

The smirk comes back, “All the more reasons to do it, wouldn’t you say?”

Laura doesn't say anything. Instead, she lets her head fall against Carmilla's shoulder and presses play on the next episode they're watching.

A few minutes into it she softly says, "I'm thankful for you too, Carmilla Karnstein."

//

He’s been throwing pebbles at her window for about thirty minutes now and either she’s ignoring him or he’s got the wrong room. He hopes it’s the former, because then it’s only gonna be a bit bad. If it’s the latter, however, he’s gonna be screwed beyond belief.

The light is not on, so maybe she’s not even there. The Summer Society house is loud and he can hear something coming from the inside that sounds a lot like _’The Naked and Famous’_ and he’s slightly peeved to find that they actually _do_ have good taste in music because that’s just wrong. He can’t have anything in common with those girls. It’s like breaking the bro code.

(Not that he hasn’t done that at least a thousand times in the last 24 hours alone.)

Something hits his back and he turns to find Danny glaring at him.

“The _fuck_?”

“Did you really not hear what I told you earlier?” she whispers loudly and her voice is a mixture of anger and aggravation. 

He runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration.

Maybe he’s slow on the uptake, but he’s not _dumb_.

“I did,” he assures her, though it doesn’t seem to help his case at all. So he pushes the container he’s holding into her direction. “I brought you some leftovers. It’s caramel apple pie, one of our brother’s family recipe. It’s your favorite, right?”

He watches as Danny’s lips part in shock and he wonders if the action is really so surprising until he thinks back on his words and realizes what he said.

_Shit._

“So, yeah, here,” he shoves the container in her hands, taking advantage of the fact she’s still too shocked to react. “And thanks for the turkey. Really. You totally saved our dinner.”

Her eyes snap to the small box on her hands and then back to him and Kirsch just knows he has to get out of there. _Fast_.

“Kirsch-”

“Later, Summer Psycho.”

And he runs. He knows she could probably catch up with him - captain of the track team and all that - but he’s counting on the fact that the surprise factor is too much for her right now.

It works. When he’s two houses past the Summer Society headquarters he notices that there’s no sign of her footsteps behind him. It’s a bit of a coward move, but he can’t answer the questions she will surely ask so it’s just better like this.

Not that it would change anything, anyway.

He knows it wouldn’t.

//

***Insert Band Name Here***

**[OR VP SS Danny]**  
 _kay nvm we r still on_

//

“I think we should probably settle on a setlist,” LaFontaine says once they’re finished with their first rehearsal after Thanksgiving.

It’s only the four of them in the shed, which means they’ve been mostly goofing around and coming up with random arrangements than actually rehearsing, but it’s a nice opportunity for them to fall back in tune after four days away from each other.

(Or, well, some of them were away. Others apparently couldn’t be closer unless they became one.)

Carmilla sighs, dropping against the couch, “But the question is, do we really need that headache right now?”

“You’re such a lazy asshole,” Danny throws at her, picking up her notebook and sitting on an amplifier. “If we get this out of the way now we’ll know which songs we’ll need to focus on.”

“When did _you_ get so invested in this?”

Danny ignores her, but in the end it’s all the same, because Laura throws a clipped _’Carmilla’_ and the girl immediately backs off, shrugging her shoulders as if to let them know that she doesn’t really care.

LaFontaine is mesmerized.

“That’s such a neat trick,” they say. “You need to teach me.”

Carmilla rolls her eyes, “Like it’d ever work for you.”

“Oh?” they raise an eyebrow at her, their lips curling in a smirk. This is just too great. “And why exactly is that, Karnstein?”

The glare she sends their way is actually one of the most impressive she’s ever pulled off.

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, _feisty_.”

“LaF,” Laura chides, and it’s not as effective as Perry, but still sends them the message. “Leave Carm alone.”

They don’t even have to say anything, because Danny seems to focus on the conversation again, “ _Carm?_ Wow, you two really did bond during Thanksgiving, huh?”

Laura has moved and is sitting right next to Carmilla when the words come out of Danny’s mouth and her face goes the color of their hair and they have to bite their lips to keep from laughing because this really is _hilarious_. They don’t want her to be caught in the middle - she’s actually really nice and all - but for the first time they have something to hold over Carmilla’s head and it’s just too good an opportunity to let it go to waste.

“And to think you’ve ever called _me_ wipped.”

A throw pillow actually hits her in the face after that, and she opens her eyes just in time to see Laura slap the arm of a very annoyed Carmilla, who seems to have slipped into an even more sour mood than it’s usual for her.

“Okay, stop,” Laura calls out, looking between all of them. “Stop behaving like children.”

“I’m sorry, L,” they say and they actually are a bit sorry. “It’s just-”

“Fuck no,” Danny interrupts. “We’re not sorry. When do we ever get to tease her? Never. She can handle a bit of her own medicine, can’t you, Bellatrix?”

Carmilla flicks her bangs, crosses her arms, “Whatever.”

Danny points at her, “See? That’s her default answer whenever she agrees with something.”

LaFontaine thinks about it for a moment, and they realize she’s right. 

“Still,” Laura argues. “You did say we have more important things to do. So let’s focus on that, shall we?”

They tilt their head, “Frosh does have a point.”

“Fine,” Danny blows out a breath. “I don’t think we should do any originals for this gig. Or maybe, like, just one. Because those beefcakes and their friends are dumb - no offense, Laura - so they probably won’t even enjoy it and we deserve better than that.”

“I’m forced to agree with our resident Amazon,” Carmilla says, her tone flat and uninterested. 

“This really warms my heart, you know?”

“Okay,” Laura drawls, effectively interrupting them. “No originals. I think we should also favor upbeat songs, considering it’s a Holiday party. Maybe slip a few slow songs here and there, yeah?”

They hum in agreement, “Slow songs are the perfect opportunity for people to make their moves, they’re a must-have at every party.”

Laura wrinkles her nose, “They’re also a perfect opportunity for creepers to invade people’s personal space, but I digress.”

“Geez, Laura. Way to look at the bright side of things.”

She shrugs, “I’m just saying that this happens a lot. Sometimes people’s intentions are good, but we have to consider this is a fraternity party and they’re not a very respectable environment, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would,” Carmilla says.

“You’d agree with her if she said you shit rainbows, asshole,” Danny points out. “But she does have a point. And I’m not even saying that because I hate the Zetas, but because things are horrible like that.”

LaFontaine goes thoughtful for a moment, “So, do we want slow songs or not?”

“We do,” Laura nods. “We’ll just have to hope that the Zetas are as concerned with campus safety as they claim they are.”

“Okay,” Danny clicks on her pen. “Songs, let’s do this. Hit me.”

Carmilla is the first to suggest a song, only to be immediately vetoed by Danny, which starts yet another one of their endless arguments. Laura tries valiantly to make them stop, but it’s about ten minutes before she can actually rein Danny and Carmilla in, saying that she’s gonna walk out and never come back if they continue acting like five year-olds whenever they disagree on something.

They sigh; it’s gonna be a long night.

//

She’s walking out of class when her phone vibrates in her pocket, and Carmilla lets out a heavy groan at the name that flashes on her screen. She’s been ignoring the calls for about a week now and she knows another day might mean an unwanted visit to her dorm room, so she just takes a deep breath and presses the green button, pressing her phone against her ear and she walks out of the Robespierre building.

“Mother,” she greets, the word barely slipping past her clenched teeth.

 _“So you live,”_ comes the reply from the other side of the line. Carmilla expects her Mothers voice to be tight and clipped, but they’re sugary sweet, which only lets her know that she’s much more pissed than she previously thought. _“I thought perhaps you’d find your demise in some dark alley and the police just hadn’t know to contact me yet.”_

Carmilla bites off the reply of _’Wouldn’t you like that?’_ that is on the tip of her tongue, and instead shifts her tone to match her Mother’s, “Haven’t been to any dark alleys lately, but I’ll be sure to be careful, Mother.”

 _“Oh, darling, please do,”_ the voice gets even sweeter, if that’s possible. _”It’d break my heart if anything happened to you.”_

The contents of her breakfast churn in her stomach and Carmilla tries her best to hold them in, “I’m sure it would, Mother.”

_”Just like it broke my heart that you didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.”_

Ah, there it is.

“I apologize,” she forces the words out. “I had prior appointments and you’ve always told me that I shouldn’t commit to things if I don’t plan on honoring these commitments. That was all that I was doing.”

Things go quiet on the other side and Carmilla mentally congratulates herself for managing to make her Mother speechless.

(It doesn’t happen very often.)

 _“That’s perfectly understandable, dear,”_ it must be painful for her Mother to actually say these words. _”But please do remember that you have other agreements to honor. We wouldn’t want for you to lose your benefits because you couldn’t keep up with your responsibilities, would we?”_

She wants to fucking punch something, but she focus on ending the call as fast as possible.

“No, Mother, we wouldn’t.”

 _”Lovely,”_ the small laugh that echoes through her phone makes the skin raise on Carmilla’s neck. _”Hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon, my darling girl. Mother misses you.”_

(Breathe.)

“Of course, Mother. Bye.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply before she presses end on the call and resists the urge of throwing her phone against the stone wall across from her.

Her hands are shaking and she can feel her blood boiling and she hates, absolutely _hates_ that her mother has that effect on her, but it seems that she just can’t shake it off no matter how hard she tries, no matter how much she thinks she’s slipping away from her claws.

It’s like a never-ending torture.

Her phone vibrates in her hand again and she’s slightly scared to think that maybe she pushed her Mother too far and retaliation is headed her way, but the name on her screen actually makes all the anger on her body dissipate, even if just for that moment.

**[Cupcake]**  
 _Come over? I have something to show you!_

She smiles. Maybe things don’t always have to be so hard for her.

Maybe she actually has a chance of having something good for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Songs in this chapter are:**
> 
>   * _Reflektor_ by Arcade Fire 
>   * _Blindness_ by Metric
>   * _All of Me_ by John Legend
>   * _Young Blood_ by The Naked and Famous
> 

> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://antisocialgod.tumblr.com/), and also check [carmilla band au](https://www.tumblr.com/search/carmilla+band+au) for random comments, updates and the official fanmixes with the songs used in the fic/relevant to the story.
> 
> Updates will come weekly, between friday and monday.


End file.
